Worlds Apart

In Vietnam

We sat in an Internet Café

And wrote electronic postcards.

Hi, Mom, I wrote. Wish you were here. Love.

Hey, Dad and Mom. Fernie wrote. We need more money!

I next emailed Fernie: Hey, what did you write?

Fernie raised his eyebrows at me from across the café.

He ignored my question.

He tapped and tapped at the keys of his machine.

He wrote: Do you have any sunscreen?

I answered: Yes, it’s on my face.

He smiled at me.

He tapped and tapped at the keys of his machine again.

He wrote: Do you have any chewing gum?

I answered: Yes, it’s in my mouth.

We left the Internet café.

We took a ride in a motorized rickshaw

And bumped along a road to a store

For more sunscreen and chewing gum,

Plus a squirt gun for each of us.

We had learned this about ourselves.

When we were thirsty, we were thirsty together, at the same time.

We would shoot soda-filled squirt guns into our mouths

That were always opening and closing,

Always perfuming the air with sweet talk.

Even in sleep, we rolled on our cots

And had something to say.