the patrol car has left the block once more, a bull shark circling nearer to some shore, headlights blared, a black silhouette steering the vehicle;
night kisses the horizon, pecks it sharp like a bullet case scraping the darkling pavement, only the whitest stars visible above.
many like me stroll sidewalks at this hour, smoking a stogie or sitting on empty swings in playgrounds vacant of laughter; it is better
that children sleep while they can and can dream before the true night, that blight of bruise blue, sirens wailing on their way to steal away some dark man
from the streets. where I stand on an apartment stoop I count the vehicle for the fourth time, lurking out around the corner, like a wolf dressed metallic.
nothing gets better come nightfall. nothing gets done while asleep. i slip on my shadow, hood dark, concealing my face. lean back into the steps
and light another cigarette. inhale. exhale. most donβt have to worry: their paleness turns them ghostly, invisible, to the patrolling cars.
but I wear my darkness. i wish I knew how to make sparks fly, have them issue from throat, crack into splinters of glass. the law tells me to sit
but I refuse. i am a phosphorus fuse; i am whitened; but i am impoverished, and I too have my own reasons to be frightened.