A young, black, male, 19, maybe.
orange cap covered by a hoody,
long shorts, orange sneakers,
jives down the street,
Jammin’ with his music.

I”m stuck at a red light
as he sidewalk dances by.
I used to smile at such
playful stuff.
But, tonight, in this world of
bullets from all sides, all races, all faiths,
nations bleeding,
refugees drowning,
rage in restaurants,
bombs on boulavards,
something, lizard like, comes
oozing from deep in me.
My fear yells at the traffic light,
“Shit! Turn green! He may be. He might have,
Go! Go! Go!”
Where does this brief, racist, panic moment come from?
I’m not like that!
Some of my best friends…
My eyes flick from dancer to the just quick enough
green light.
I drive away,
relieved,
ashamed.