4:30 AM Saturday Night

ANSWER your fucking phone bitch!
Answer your FUCKING phone bitch!
Answer your goddam fucking phone BITCH!!
 —male voice in the alley

Unsafe. I feel unsafe
and bury myself under
the covers of my bed.

Who is he yelling at?
Do they feel unsafe?

I hate violent language
and I hate it even
more when it wakes me.

Why does he have to use that word bitch?

Maybe he’s drunk.
Maybe he’s locked out.
Maybe he’s homeless.

In my city there are homeless
and addicts everywhere.

On my walk to work
I watch one hunt
the ground with his knife.

His body bent
like his spine
is a concept.

His focus
on buried treasure.
A crystal of crack.
A medallion of meth.

I lean over his broken
shadow, and place a coin
on his cardboard sign.
It says, “I have no one.”

I know this feeling
of being alone.
The man stops
and looks up.

He whispers a word
of gratitude,
“Bitch.”