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