Crackers

poem

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I used to joke that,
on every Greyhound
bus, there's an Indian
man willing to share
his Ritz crackers. Then,

after years of repeating
that joke, an Indian man
climbed aboard the bus
traveling from Missoula
to Spokane, called me

cousin, and shared his
Ritz crackers with me.
A hilarious bit of what
you might want to call
prophetic but it was only

a coincidence, though
some coincidences feel
more magical than others,
and some Indian strangers
become temporary brothers.