Asleep
on the coach from Santa Elena de Uairen to Puerto La Cruz
my bag was stolen from right beneath my feet,
in the stupid cozy darkness
at the end
of a ten hour journey.

As we came into the station
I heard a noise
and looked down
at a dark skinned Venezuelan man with acne scars.
I woke, and gave chase.

No good, he was faster, and the bag contained my shoes.
My tattered Pumas,
my notebook,
my music, my t-shirt and
absolutely nothing of
material value to
anyone but
me.

I gave chase anyway
in a tangle of Brazilian rubber flipflops
tripping and hurting my toe.

The tall man ducked away
into dusty favelas
far ahead
but still I chased,
cursing him and my own
stupidity
and the soft sleepy seats
of that coach

My tattered Pumas, my notebook,
my music, my t-shirt and
most importantly
all the words recorded
on that trip.

You see I was on the way
to meet my father
for the first (and last) time and I
wanted to get the notebook back.
I had written it all down.

He's dead now,
that crazy Gordo
drowned himself.

28 years old carrying a broken bottle
looking for the acne man
who stole my bag
no use
no shoes

at a certain point with dirty feet
breathing hard
bleeding from the toenail
you have to say
fuck it