Saturday Night

ANSWER your fucking phone bitch! 
Answer your FUCKING phone bitch! 
Answer your goddam fucking phone BITCH!!

                                         —voice outside my window 

Unsafe. I feel unsafe
and bury under
the covers of my bed. 
Who is he yelling at?
Do they feel unsafe? 

I hate violent language 
and I hate it more
when it wakes me. 
Why use the word bitch?

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

In my city, homeless
and addicts are everywhere. 

Walking to work
I see a man 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. 

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

I know this feeling of being alone.  

The man stops
to look at me and whispers
a word of gratitude,  
“Bitch”.