Kiwi and the Malaysian Guy

Hard gravelly right turn—nice shady picnic grounds.
Brown van I’d noticed earlier pulled up just as I did.
Skinny guy got out, might be Malaysian.
Noticed my MN license—How many miles?
—Really a lot, I said.
Gave him a rundown of my trip so far.
—Family everywhere! he marveled.
—Well, I’m going for a stroll around, I said.
Walked to the end of the grounds and peed—
left quite a puddle in a tree-root canal.

When I walked back, the Malaysian guy
was taking a Spanish-style guitar out of his van
and propping it against a tree.
He’d already put a big parrot cage on a picnic table,
and the parrot was perched on the open cage door—
luminescent green tufts around its neck—
no fear of it flying away—
—She like boys, the Malaysian guy said.
—What’s her name?
—Kiwi.
It was obvious, Kiwi was quite comfortable with me there,
just treading the top wire of the cage door
and muttering pleasantly to herself.
What a happy bird!
—Are the mountains coming soon?
—We’d be seeing them already if it wasn’t so hazy.

I guess he was planning to play his guitar for a while,
with Kiwi perched there with him,
and then continue on up the pass.
I think he wanted me to stick around,
and I actually thought of getting my mandolin out of my car,
and Kiwi didn’t mind.
I wanted to take their picture—the skinny Malaysian guy
and Kiwi swinging almost perpendicular on the open bird-cage door—
but it seemed intrusive to ask,
and now I have no proof they exist.