I’m tired of fearing men,
and I want to tell the black man
I’m not crossing the street
because he’s black,
but because he’s a man,
and I wonder if I trust
him not to make me uncomfortable
more than a white man,
because the white man probably
figures nothing will come back to bite him,
but the black man probably fears
what happens if I report him,
and I’m sick of fearing men,
and I’m terrified of the vague power
I might wield if I lifted my voice
and I wonder if I can redirect
it to bring down the white men
who actually scare me because
they’ve gotten away with things
the black man passing me on the sidewalk
would never do, let alone get away with.

I’m tired, and I wonder how terrified
the black man is, passing me on the sidewalk.