On my way home
From a party
Of finger foods
And hip dancing
I sat in a small car
With a friend
And three acquaintances
Waiting for the train.
We sat.
Squished
Talking politics
Genocide
Corruption
War
Hip hop
Poetry.
The man I was sitting next to
Spoke vehemently
Through a thick accent
And
Was asked where he was from.
He asked, in return,
"Spiritually?
Or
Physically?"
To which I responded,
"Physically and then Spiritually."
And he said
He was born on the island
Of Jamaica
But that his soul
Was from Africa.
I smiled
The rest of the car
Met him
with
Confused Silence.
So he said,
Helping,
You can take a pig out of a pig pen
and put him with goats
but he will never be a goat.
And I paused.
Then,
Frowned.
And asked
"What would
the child
of the pig and goat be?"
He smiled and said
he had
No Idea.
Smiling,
I presume,
Because he knew it was a question less for him
Than for me.