This is a poem about how weird I feel about ______________. What is the word? It's one word, and pretty powerful.
You and me and your city three
sit on a Bed-Stuy stoop,
its country side,
& talk about what it means.
I am a soft white woman
who rides a lot of buses.
I weight train but still.
Everybody could get me. Criminals. Cops.
I walk around with a halo of nonchalance
about me like a math radius.
I am a paradigm of my own.
I think nothing can hurt me.
Mostly nothing wants to because who cares.
I live some places. I am not a victim.
The eyebrow glimmer, the side-eye
I would only be insisting upon,
performing. We sit here drinking,
and our glass
glasses mean we live here,
even when we don't. I feel
horrible. What do you do?
Nothing much, your light reflects green,
just hide your bourbon if the police roll by.