and rounding the corner
we came upon
an old fist clenching
a new gun
his mouth ripe with
ignorant vulgarities
fresh from the
morning news feed
in somewhat of a
neutral stance he
shook, intending to be
a threat, a protector
and she behind him
still stirring the oatmeal
negating his hollers
with a “Shut up ya Ol’ fool!”
Momma told us not to run
but we did walk a bit faster
and we whispered jokes
about his dirty pants
the light was red
at avenue I and 17th,
two cars with thumping music
rev’d their engines
the Ol’ man retreated
his fist hidden to his waist
mumbling about a time when
most of the street’s gravel
was still white
