Be Still My Mind

I was floating on being thankful for my truck when I changed to a raging white man directing a fear struck Mexican to pull over. I could see him wondering if his brown ass was gonna be kicked by a Trump supporter.

While approaching his construction vehicle, I noticed the load was held by one strap, and glanced at my side mirror to change lanes and pass then looked up to see a large tarp slip under my truck at 70 mph. The Nissan sucked it in like a dog eating chocolate and immediately began evacuating itself of melted and torn plastic while the cars behind became obscured in dust and smoke.

A sickened stress consumed his unshaven brown face and I imagined it was the dread for losing the means to feed a family and be deported. Then I wondered why would a loving God use an illegal alien to kill me on a freezing Minnesota highway and starve that poor bastard's family and I started laughing. Seeing my psychotic cackling the Mexican's look transformed to a pale fearfulness as he complied with my animated requests.

When he exited his vehicle, I raised my hands in a peaceful gesture and said, "Happy Thanksgiving." A perverse gratitude flowed through me as I weighed the loss of my truck against his fate. Then I gave him the blank stare for about five seconds before he finally turned his palms skyward, rolled his shoulders and raised his eyebrows to nervously inquire, in a universally understood body language, what do you want? With a smile and nodding head I indicated there was something he should see under my truck.

I called his employer, explained what happened, and said, "I don't think you want me calling a squad."

"We're an honorable company," said Jason. "We'll take care of any damages to your truck." Then I enjoyed another uncomfortable pause before saying "Fuck Trump," into the phone while smiling at Miguel.

As I merged back into the freeway traffic I was struck with an epiphany to meditate on my love life, but then I thought it best to still my mind.