a fiction poem
He babysat the poll
and the alleyway.
Across from her car,
he saw it all.
Camouflage
and draped in white,
maybe his eyes were blue.
His features were just pencil sketches
and led.
His grey eyes
watched her stumble out of her car
on the night she shouldn’t drive
he knew too much.
And when the daylight shone,
he could see the trash guys
pick up the super gulp cups and the Starbucks
and the construction men
get the job done.
But at night,
His brown eyes
Watched her car pull in.
And pull out
the next morning.
Finally, she looked up.
She noticed; she saw,
him,
the man who knew too much.
And later when her car pulled in again at night
she thought.
Then she looked him straight in the eye.
Every day there the white man on the poll sat
and watched
but, now,
she stared back.
Mallory McDonald 