Consider the man in the aloha shirt
talking to the Banyan tree.

The diet Pepsi clutched in his hands
holds him against the chipped picnic table

and the spotty pigeons scatter
when he flicks his toes.

He is talking story
to the story of Hawai’i;

and I watch the Banyan smile.

He twirls his finger

and she dances for him,
her long arms unknotting

robustly in tango, swinging
joints and hips and limbs.