Jar

 

He cut a great Asian body
In his rust-brown skin,
Bare from the belt up,
His biceps tensed and bumped
From the weight of the earth
Jar he lugged on his shoulder.
He came to sell me the jar.
I had been buying old jars
For a landscaping project.

I agreed to his price.
As he turned to leave he
Looked back and said:
"I know why you're buying
These jars. You grind them
To get their gold content."
He left with a knowing smile.

I thought this hometown boy
Had a fine sense of humor
Until my niece told me
He had been in and out
Of a Naga mental hospital.

© Luis Cabalquinto