Hiding from humans

Part 1: January

I am still that scrawny 8-year-old
Hiding in the alley behind
the rusted 80-gallon drum, the one
By the green onions
—from teenagers I did not know,
And decades on, still do not know
Why I hid.


Part 2: March

The guy on the phone offered me
His rake, to help me pile the mulch
I was dumping into a borrowed truck;
Seemed dismissive of my thanks, going
Back to his phone call, which ended, “
Okay dude, hang in there,” but
Otherwise sounded like a man to his
Mother, or a tired wife, or grieving
Father—and I shrank, too, from him,
No longer skinny or hidden, but still
Inexplicably guarded against some evil
I endlessly, unjustifiably, anticipate
from the often kind human race.




january & march 2018