He showed up on a Saturday afternoon
on Main Street at the edge of the dust bowl
in a ’29 Ford pickup with running boards rusted through.
None of the farmers nor their wives were fooled.
Said he was looking for work
doing hauling deliveries for local undertakers
and wanted directions.
The fact that he could spit tobacco with pinpoint accuracy,
wore a sash around his bib overalls,
and had ninja stars for eyes was wasted
on no one.
The breeze started to pick up at dusk.
He rubbed silt on his face and neck
and cartwheeled along the edges of the wind storm.
For five days straight,
no one saw nothin’.