"Mark Russell, 34, of Northeast Washington, D.C."


i'm always paranoid
when i cross that threshold--
anticipating that moment
a barrel's pressed to the back
of my head, a voice demanding
my immmediate possessions

i'm still a little uneasy when
a packed car pulls up beside me
at traffic lights with crunk
blasting through open windows

i usually don't make eye contact

just the other day, a kid
was shot for looking at somebody
the wrong way

with the news constantly
reminding us that we haven't
quite figured out how to live
with each other,
can you blame me

you don't think they're just
as threatened when they see me
walking my terrier or jogging
after midnight

that for them, the sight
of me means that condos and
coffee shops are coming with
increased police presence

how do you think i feel being
the reason for the "uh oh"
expression on some of the metro
riders' faces when i seemingly
missed my stop and wandered
onto their side of town

as if i haven't been living
here for six months already

my neighbors weren't exactly
thrilled when i moved in, i over-
heard a kid telling his friend
"there goes the neighborhood"

it's scary sometimes, knowing
my skin's synonymous to this
country's harsh history

that i look a lot like
the policymakers who are
sending these kids to war

how many times do i have
to go on pretending not to
hear the young punks
imitating my inflections
and nicknaming me "Bobby"

you don't think i have the urge
sometimes to feed them their own
brand of humor, to show them
that i can get ignant, too

but then, where does that get us?