ISSUE: Autumn 2001
A child with glittering eyes
spat on me, slashed my jacket
with his boxcutter
and now the cop holding him
in a hammerlock ordered me:
hit as hard as you want.
Snow drifted in whorls
in the arc of a high lamp.
A dog’s silhouette paced
behind a frosted window.
As I backed away
trying to make each step slower
eyes in hallways
picked up my trembling.
Each door was covered
with one stroke of a letter
of an immense name
and the cop shouted after me:
Faggot. I risked my life.
