The young white man with the Yankees cap,
bladdered, crawled on close to Tipton.
Now he slumps and drunk sleeps
near Galton Bridge.
Off from his shift, a new face
clocks the space no one would claim,
shakes a shoulder and berates him
and Punjabi (for the punters)
but he stays dead to everything
as the laughter catches almost all of us
with such ready collusion.
Just by the temple the Sikh driver stops,
walks up to them and pushes the lad
toward the window.
Then he takes his short haired brother
(the Kara’s the main give away)
and with elegant force presses him down
to the seat beside him.
For however long the pissed kid will not fall.