famous for ribs.
mount rushmore
he’s four years-old.
no. six. no. three. no. ten.
we don’t know yet.
his parents know, but we’re waiting
for him to show us.
he’s throwing up gang signs,
and i’m the whitest guy i know.
eventually, he picks an age and sticks with it.
his parents concur, with smiles that say
he’s not even close.
then, they ask him to ask me how old i am,
but i can’t show him with my hands.