The men lurked about the roadside rest stop
but weren’t looking for drugs, young girls, or help
with a flat. Rather, it was the tenth man,
me—it turned out—they were waiting for.
He mumbled something through his beard. Was I
Jewish, I thought he said. The last question
I expected in a dump like this. I
shook my head and thought—I had heard of this—
but joined anyway. I’ve never been one
to miss a game of poker, or decline
a dark pint. Who can say no to the tribe—
of men, I mean. God’s another matter.