The Intersection
Bill Bank
In the Mission District
Of San Francisco
A young black man
Is Waiting to cross the street/
I am a few steps behind him/
When a pickup truck stops/
Blocking his way/
Inside/
Two white men/
Yelling and cursing/
At him/
I reach the intersection/
The men/
Still there/
Are large/
Intimidating
I am intimidated/
The young man/
Now beside me/
Does not move/
Does not speak/
As they hurl insults and threats/
I do not speak to him/
Or to the men/
I am silent, frozen/
In minutes/
Probably 10 or 15/
The driver
Restarts the pickup/
Rounds the corner/
And they are gone/
For several more minutes/
We remain standing together/
Not moving
Not speaking
Not even a glance/
He turns and walks away from me/
Of San Francisco
A young black man
Is Waiting to cross the street/
I am a few steps behind him/
When a pickup truck stops/
Blocking his way/
Inside/
Two white men/
Yelling and cursing/
At him/
I reach the intersection/
The men/
Still there/
Are large/
Intimidating
I am intimidated/
The young man/
Now beside me/
Does not move/
Does not speak/
As they hurl insults and threats/
I do not speak to him/
Or to the men/
I am silent, frozen/
In minutes/
Probably 10 or 15/
The driver
Restarts the pickup/
Rounds the corner/
And they are gone/
For several more minutes/
We remain standing together/
Not moving
Not speaking
Not even a glance/
He turns and walks away from me/
|
Bill Bank is a writer and retired journalist living in Oakland CA. He focuses on poetry, prose, autobiography, and photography. He holds an undergraduate degree in philosophy and a master's in journalism. He has been coping with Alzheimer's for 20 years and occasionally writes about it.
|
