I Walk Alone

Streetwalking should be a solitary affair. Night slips through unseen cracks, bends the scant light into dark-eyed windows. A gangster is in my head, a punk, scaling my smooth skull seeking out weak spots, those eggshell parts where just a light knock will shatter years of confidential confidences. I'm hatless, I should have a hat. The sky drips like a leaky faucet. Got to shove my head inside a collar, reach inside a thin coat, pull out a neatly packaged, plastic poncho recently bought from a Dollar Store. Time to confront an unsolvable situation. Time to listen keenly for the sound of a tiny piton tap-tap, tapping.