Trek Back to 187th
That day in middle school a bully
joked about airplanes hitting buildings.
I couldn’t believe
When we sat spaced out in homeroom,
Staring at the fluorescent lights
And clock, towering over the intercom.
My name was called and father appeared
Standing outside the sunlit streets of New York.
He took my hand and pointed to
The steel smoking across the sky.
He said, this is the sight I never want you to see.
The sight of war.
We walked the streets of the city that never sleeps
And witnessed its bi-polar depression.
A women in a red dress, face wrinkled from tears,
Broken in the middle
Of the intersection. Like
A car accident, She collided with
Pavement and waited for help.
A man wedged his car door
Open blasting victims with news updates.
A couple stopped with us and
Stood around. Grim faced, crossed arms
There was nothing we could do.
We joined a crowd.
And waited for a bus on 63rd and Lex.
Taxi’s sped past like angry
Yellow-jackets. One stopped
And a black man was first to reach it.
The driver argued against the man
And my father cried for justice
As it flew off.
That day I was afraid of sticks and stones
And towering buildings falling down on me.