identity crisis

maybe i’m australian and i just wanna be
mexican. born in conundrum. raised as a
southern californian. lived in england.
for some time. pretended to be canadian.
while in kosovo. in nineteen ninety-nine.

tore off the chevrolet patch from my back
pack. with the helping hand of an austrian,
liz. with her swiss army scissors. we were
both traveling and the t.v.’s told us
how much i was hated. t’was somehow related

to the u.s. passport that i possessed. we took
it to the border. and to corfu. we went. pink
palace for oozo. departed for a moment. i to
crete. her to athens. one week after. rendezvous
in rhodes. three. four. weeks. couldn’t leave.

we had a cat. named booze. i worked at a bar.
named plathos. while there. i renamed it
George’s. he was the owner. but he insisted we
call it Grieco’s. i pleaded my non-resemblance to
richard. but he persisted. and we agreed to name

his bar Curious Dick’s. playing reggae music.
no room for a stage so on the speakers danced
the american chicks. and the brit named olly.
he travelled with us back to holland for 4/20.
got a minute. an ignorant stoner-(mis)leading habit.

when we realized queen’s day was 4/30 we headed
back southeast and landed in liechtenstein for
a short night down to milan and two one-way
tickets back to gatwick and never saw george
again. dumbfounded. i really am an american.