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.
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