Watering my hanging flower pots in a faded black T-shirt
with Palestine written in maroon block letters
above the green silhouette of an olive tree,
I look down and see a young ZZ Top smiling, walking his pitbull,
eyes darting from my shirt to my beard. He says how you doin’.
My beard is darker and shorter and coarser, but he thinks I’m just
like him.
eyes darting from my shirt to my beard. He says how you doin’.
My beard is darker and shorter and coarser, but he thinks I’m just
like him.
