I had to go to a friend’s third
wedding last night and rented
an uncomfortable tux that made me
feel like a Cole Porter song. Early
the next morning two guys on
the sidewalk woke me yelling
in a language where every word
sounded heavy or at least too
overweight to reach my sixth floor
bedroom window and wake me.
I couldn’t fall back to sleep,
got out of bed to make a pot
of coffee then turned on the local
news. During the night there was
a stabbing in Brooklyn, a cop
hospitalized after a robbery in
Chelsea, a boy shot in Harlem.
I turned it off and stared into
my cup of coffee the way I like
it black as midnight without
sugar, moon or stars. I couldn’t
drink it though, wondering when
things will ever change as I walked
over to the front door and bolted
the third lock then went back
to bed. Before I could fall asleep,
a motorcycle passed sounding
like a machine gun. I ducked
pulling the blanket over my head
and hid until it went down
the street, out of ear shot and
out of bullets.
Kevin Pilkington is on the writing faculty at Sarah Lawrence College. He is the author of ten poetry collections. His latest collection, Playing Poker with Tennessee Williams, was published in 2021 by Black Lawrence Press. His second novel, Taking On Secrets, was published in 2022 by Blue Jade Press.
Image: “Derek’s View From His Office” by Hans Vox
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