Summer Months

I am too educated

to be afraid of the man

with mental illness

who yells out his window

when i walk by,

who bends over

to whisper

secrets to my dog

and who my dog

is afraid of

and barks out the window at

revealing my location

while the man

stands in the middle of

the street, watching my dog

being frightened

in my apartment

 

I remember the statistics

about mental illness

and violence

and the fact that I

have suffered from

both of these things

and someone cares

enough about this man

to buy him an apartment

and he has never

reached out to touch me;

he could’ve.

 

but i sleep

with my windows shut

even in the summer months

in case he gets a shotgun

this is, after all,

america.

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