A collection of poems and other writings...

Wednesday 30 April 2014

A Brief Encounter

Out one evening,
late,
in the darkest corner of this town,
my feet pounding homeward
through these rookie streets

There, on an approaching corner,
stand two, lurking.
They are coming up faster than I wish they would
until I see
it is me
approaching them.

So I slow
to take stock of the scene:
Dark figures -
dark clothes,
dark faces,
the signature
of these stark places.

I sort through this bag of assumptions
I carry with me
and have them all summed up –
Rebellion, nah,
but crime, more likely,
loitering with intent,
crack, smack, mug, stab.

I’m closer now.
I see the whites of eyes in black faces
glance towards me then away,
conscious inattention
focussed on each other,
designed, I’m sure,
to unsettle and unnerve.
Is that danger I detect
poised in their
forced relaxation.
Looking now at each other
while gripping,
I’m certain of it,
the coming encounter
between the two of them 
and me
like a starting pistol
held against their clenching stomachs.

There will be a point –
we’re nearly there –
when they gear up and turn to face me.
Will they let me pass first, then spring?
I grip keys in my pocket,
run scenarios in my head,
seek surreptitious bolt holes
in surrounding doorways.

I tool up
defensively
with profound prejudices –
justifying my fear,
forgiving myself for the
superhuman violence
I am perpetrating in my mind.

We’re here now
it must come now
the sweat on brow
the mouth dry
the teeth of keys breaking the skin
of my clenched fingers.

Cross over, cross over
I’m shouting in my head
Avoid, avoid, avoid!
But too late now –
I am so close upon them that
to cross would seem an aggressive act
and would no doubt
draw out their fire
and shower me with black ire
released from millennia of abuse
and shame
the time ripe to take revenge for a race
ill treated by my white hand
or my father’s or my father’s father’s …

So here we are in this crashing moment
me walking 
and on the point of passing them
my head slightly bowed,
prepared for the blow,
aiming to avoid their eyes
and yet unable to do so
completely
and I glance,

just one brief glance,

at the one by the wall
the one whose cheeks seem to shine
somewhat
in the streetlight.

Not merely the gloss
of black skin under neon
but a flash of wetness beneath the eyes.

But in that very half second – 
he glimpses me glancing
and turns away.

The other, seeing this
looks at me directly
a defiant look
a challenge.

“Come on then,” he’s saying,
“What?!”

But 
I don’t know what,
I hope I say,
with my infinitesimal shrug
and grimace.

I’m passed them now
Thank God
Thank God
I’m passed them
and my breathing starts again.

And now
Some feet beyond
I’m ready to glance anew
and though I dare not do it
I do,
fearing yet the strike.

But
as I look
the other is leaning in to his companion
and reaching for his hand,
not a fist bumping
black cliché
of a handshake
but a gentle movement
to hold the other’s finger

and as I walk away,
watching across my shoulder,
he leans in further and kisses
the lips of his friend,
a gentle kiss
of comfort and support,
while the kissed one reaches his free hand up
and wipes at his cheeks

with the ball of his thumb.


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