The man, whose phrase translates
to my grammar if not my custom,
reassures me literally,
so I check it in his tongue in my head-
Sí, está bien.
Our bodies speak our common ground-
You’re good, no worries, you’re welcome.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he says,
for his and my country
holds his and my turns of phrase-
His and my culture
is hallowed ground.
We are endless space.
2 thoughts on “Taking Turns at the Trash Compactor”