hoodlum

the streets of the city are cold at night
even when they're hot.
Young men swimming in buckets of beer
with knives in their pockets
stiffen my resolve to walk faster
to be faster

to not run.

They are only sixteen
seventeen
or somewhere in between but I don't know them
and they look like a disaster
waiting to blow through my life

I say nothing
they say nothing
nothing is said,
but I feel the dread of too little to do
for them
and too much left for me

when I get to my car,
I say a prayer of thanks
that tonight
I was invisible.