He’s watching the road

in front of the General Store

on Hana

for a bus to his shanty,

fanning his face

with a folded newspaper

from the dust of vans

carting tourists

to the luxury hotel

Slumped on a crate,

belly on his lap

in shifting shade,

he offers nothing but a scowl

until a passing local lifts his fingers

pocket height in, “aloha”

A pert smile peeks

from under his fraying,

wide brimmed straw hat,

goes back inside