INTO THE BLACK

Black man

Dressed in black

Drunk and dazed on BART

Asks the fair-skinned woman

Across from him

For an envelope

She quizzically obliges

He buries the white sheath

Underneath his sweater

And smiles.

He takes out a nubby black comb

Begins raking it across

His scrubby black hair

Back and forth, back and forth

Comb, comb, comb

And his eyes glaze over.

He lifts a black bag from floor to lap

Disappears comb into pocket

Shelters his scalp into a black wool cap

Drapes a black hood over his covered head

Leans into the maw of the open bag

And fumbles out

A lottery ticket.

Hunching over 

With Lincoln’s help

He begins

To scratch, scratch, scratch

At the card

As if he were reaching

For some new fortune or freedom

Or just digging himself a cave

So he may go deeper into the dark.