Swift Glimpse

Marcus Jackson

Upon another stage of survival and recovery,
we pause and look ahead or look at each other, briefly
distrusting the resumption of the movements,
the threats, and the music of our streets.

What an empire of unequal labor, misshapen
fame, and loves whose tongues retain
the floodmarks of outswum pain.
The truthful protagonist carries a box

of brake pads, a c-clamp, and a bus pass,
or they use coupons on toothpaste and soap,
or they wash their children’s clothes
while playing old songs that sound exempt

from greed, and their face, in the available light
among sidewalks, alleys, and courtyards,
can send an onlooker a swift glimpse
of the heart’s unembellished excellence.