Night
Coming On
Sun going down spindled our shadows
to Giacometti bronze,
three old friends on a standing
six mile walk, streetlights
sputtering
indignation at a dismal election
more final referendum
on the Enlightenment itself,
casting us in
unflattering light,
angry white men, for all you knew,
wreathed in the sour mist
of seething resentment,
bas relief of your shadowed
face
a dry wadi of worry
framed with care within
the folds of your hijab.
Desperation, oncoming
night,
courage in the face of our disgraceful
descent into darkness,
God only knows what drove you
to ignore the little
voice
in your head, steer to the curb to ask
directions to the community
college.
You
can’t miss it, finning my hand
down Washington
in a puny act of supplication,
past holiday lights and
shoppers,
past this bar where we sit
huddled over beer,
watching in disbelief,
news of night coming
on.
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