My Encounter with the Sage

by Dan Pinkerton

Soon I’ll leave to meet the sage at the Indian
place where I’ll order tandoori
because it’s easy to pronounce.   The sage has lived
one-hundred years (give or take),
knows each dish by heart & has repeatedly toured
the sub-continent.   I don’t know
what “Oye Como Va’ means but I sure like
the sound of it.   Don’t try feeding
me that crap about Santayana, Santana
& Casteneda being three
separate men.   What else would you have me believe?
That humans consist primarily
of water?   I admit there are times I do feel mentally
diluted, spiritually soaked.
Maybe if I sit here, dull as a sponge under
the table amid the spiffy
wingtips, the sage won’t be burdened by my watered-
downness & will feed me ribbons
of skewered lamb as I lick his ring with my rough tongue.


About the Author

Dan Pinkerton lives in Des Moines, Iowa. His poems have appeared in Boston Review, Indiana Review, Sonora Review, and Subtropics, while his fiction has appeared in Washington Square, Arts & Letters, Crazyhorse, Quarterly West, and the 2008 Best New American Voices anthology.