Crosswalk

bitch-boss1

I see him coming towards me as I step off the curb.
Random grungy guy opposite me in the crosswalk.
His eyes locked in my direction.
Muttering under his breath as he looks straight at me.
Something that sounds a lot like “white bitch”.
I am not in the mood for this bullshit today.
Therefore, this moment is perfect.

Random greasy, fucked up, stinky dude.
I want no part of your issues.
But here we are.
You have invited me in.
Two strangers passing inside the lines.
About to get to know each other.
Timing can be curiously cruel.

Maybe I should be afraid of you.  But, somehow, I am pissed.
I could match your provocation; let my lower instincts rise.
“WHAT THE FUCK YOU SAY TO ME?” comes to mind.
The right to call someone Bitch must be earned.

You can see I’ve been simmering this morning,
long before our steps met.

That is your gift.
You spark the thirsty weeds on the hillside.
And smile.
Dropping stones into a puddle of mud.
Just to stain a white girl’s skirt.  

We ride on this frozen millisecond of interaction.
My eyes dart from your glare to the Don’t Walk, flashing red.
I can feel your heat as you close in, daring me to engage.
At the last possible moment, just before you pass
A wave of humor overtakes me.
It’s all so absurd.
A tiny smirk engages my lips
and “Mornin!” is all I can think to say.

~jrb (aka, white bitch)

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