The companion spirit who knows me best
drops in at the oddest times, often with
a can’t-miss-this message that might

as well be a burning bush. Driving
down H Street toward home, I see on
the rear end of a Toyota pickup:

TELUWHT

Reading it, grinning, I say aloud,
“What, Clifford?” as if he’s making a
suggestion from the passenger seat.

And when, at a stoplight, the driver sticks
his arm out the window, hand flexed
in a wave, I laugh as the line beams

into my brain: “Tell you what, Toots.”
And though I still don’t know what what
he meant, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter.

Message received, babe. Back at’cha.