Be not afraid.


Tumbling out onto the steps
of the Lincoln Centre
after the King and I,
we cross through growing puddles
of liquid light, hundreds of
well-dressed theatre-goers
plus three guys in jeans.

At Columbus Circle
a sea of black umbrellas
surges towards seven
yellow taxis.

25 blocks. Nothing
for a New Yorker but for me
armed only with a small umbrella
and my best pair of red shoes,
it’s an odyssey.

Around 55th Street
halfway to my hotel
I stop at the light.
A young man crosses
against the red.
He stops. Stares at me.

Oh Shit.

“Hey, lady! You can cross.
I promise you it’s perfectly
safe. I’ll stand right here
while you cross.”

I look both ways
and enter the intersection
where the young man stands

We laugh.

I wave from the other side
of the street.

He disappears into the rain.


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