I drive down the onramp to merge into L.A. traffic
A greying haired middle aged man does not want to let me in.
Forced onto the curb of the the freeway I turn and look at him.
He is staring at me
And a blanche, passionless, gaunt middle finger waves in my direction
I look back for another couple of minutes and smile as I drive on the edge of the freeway still.
An excitement runs through me
A fierce rushing of blood.
I am the Polynesian heroes of my youth.
I am the Anglo-Saxon legends of my ancestors.
I am an African-Brazilian of utter defiance and survival.
I feel their spirits deep, comfortable
I am from the pure earth of the south pacific
I am from the hardened rock of northern Europe.
I have water in me from the raging Amazon.
I am crafted from powerful dust
And none shall defy me.
I roll down my window
And lock eyes with the man slowly becoming a boy.
I am ready for war
I have been melded in battle
I bring blood and fire
I show him my Pukana
My ancestors envelop him
He sharply turns and looks at his steering wheel
And never looks back up
I am all that I have been.