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By Duy Doan

The man I pulled tonight

carried a load of books.


When I felt him watching

me uphill, I grimaced.


He gave me lunar

cakes the size


of two camel humps.

When I answered him,


I smiled to his face.

He wore the moonlight


in his specs. Pant

seams clean as the embroidery


work of his book covers.

One cannot grow rich


without a bit of cleverness.

Should I have shown


him the secret of my deft

touch? The Circling Moon,


the Graceful Swan? How East

Wind beats West Wind


if other two winds say so?

Snow falls on cedars.


Source: Poetry (October 2017)

  • Activities
  • Arts & Sciences
  • Love

Poet Bio

Duy Doan
Duy Doan is the author of We Play a Game, winner of the 2017 Yale Series of Younger Poets. His work has appeared in Poetry, Slate, The Cortland Review, and elsewhere. A Kundiman fellow, he received an MFA in poetry from Boston University, where he serves as director of the Favorite Poem Project. See More By This Poet

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