Poem 13 of 30

You have twenty fucking minutes or I’ll come and kick in the muthafuckingdoor myself. Fuck I need my bread—

Good evening how are you?

Hostility packed up.

Contained.

Transformed.

Alms of cordiality for a sudden shrouded stranger.

You stifle a laugh as you pass a man threatening violence. His cellphone glows in the dark. He is genuinely warm as he greets you. Your bag bounces on your back as if you are in middle school. You give a Fine, thank you and descend the hilly alley.

Those trees with those fish smelling blossoms are in bloom.

Their white tiny petals confetti your pathway home.

It’s a fucking Miyazaki but in the hood.

The slow pulse of red lights of an ambulance are Ohm eyes.

The villagers slide open their squeaking windows to let in this sweet, sweet breeze.

Someone is screaming in the distance.

You have nothing. You have everything.

A return home.

© 2018 by Miya Upshur Williams

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