man on a motorcycle/ from Kansas City/ wants to know when I will get married/ “settle down”/ he is more concerned with “it”than me/ wants to know if I’ve “got a church”/ I say “Methodist” to avoid preaching/ to avoid the “saving” from what I’m not so sure.
he isn’t sure about his bike/ what if he breaks down on the rez? who will save him? Lots of religious nuts on Hwy 89/ like the Albertan that picked us up hitchhiking from Pendroy/he had a bible in his backseat/I’d love to tell this guy from Kansas City that
he needs to wear a helmet because religion won’t save him from
traumatic brain injury (but I don’t tell him)/ he guesses that I’m 32/ he has kids and grandkids/they sound dull/ I’m thinking how much I dislike Harleys and how I won’t be 32 for 7 years.
he is still thinking I need to get hitched/ “don’t want to be old to start a family”/I almost laugh/ and imagine myself with long, curly dark hair and a summer dress
standing in the doorway of a little convenience store on the highway through/pretending to be Methodist/ how this stranger must see me/ it really is a lovely façade
of pureness/ maybe he thinks I’ve never left Montana/ thinks I’m a virgin/ a cook/thinks I’m not well-read/ a meatloaf eater/ a knitter.
he says I should “stop by” his church in Kansas City/ I say “I probably won’t” and he says he knows/ the only truths spoken.