Thank you for knifing the soles so that
texture would safen the walk on hills
like these where San Franciscan’s talk
on wet days, yak yak, when a man’s pink
skin is hidden under hoodies and
almost safe, but the earth stays
slippery and dangerous. I wasn’t wearing
shoes. You asshole, you knifed my feet.
Here’s the kick, I’m no kerchief, no
skirmish you can run into
and out of. I won’t curse or
recreate you, but I’ll remember.
Next time, I’ll be boots.