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)
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