The white man

Lines and ridges around his mouth like the what the
Andes mountains look like from high
Or like fucking fault lines
Sallow skin dotted with black stubbly whiskers and
The voice that classic slurry drawly twang
but softer and more thoughtful than you’d expect.
He has a trucker cap on a underneath his jeans
you can make out the skinniest legs you ever saw
with a belt tightly wound across
He smells like liquor and smokes and
has glasses with a clip on sunglasses to bifocals
He laughs and I can hear his lungs wheeze like an accordion