Centuries later I'd learn
that Ponca refers to a subgroup
of Sioux and their language.
At the time, the car had broken
down in tornado heat,
vomiting oil. On our way
to OKC, we found a mechanic--
a biker with seasoned tattoos
who lit cigarettes with a blowtorch.
His wife ran the place. She was
stylish, wry, and composed
among the invoices, racket,
and grease. We weren't the first
to wonder how she and the sinewed
man came to meet and marry.
None of our business, her smile
assured us, before we could ask
out loud. I'd bet anything,
except the car, they were happy
in Ponca City, which repaired our means
of transport and gave us an anomaly
to ponder down the years.
