It was the first time the chill
broke even slightly, the first storm,
sleeitng the streets so completely,
the cars would have stopped in the street
if they already hadn't. Moving down
a snow-footed path, I found another
figure coming my way. The rest of my group0
was staying in tne lobby of the Hynnes.
There were already rumors spreading
of zombies finding their limberness again
the same way high school friends spread
stories about Boston's non-whites
and the Hara Krisnas while traveling
to and from the city on the commuter rail.
And here I was, faced with the urge
to cross the street for the first time
since my first year as an Emerson student.
We both stepped toward slowly, afraid
to provoke. When we both crossed,
that's when we knew. When I came by to talk
that's when I saw his badge, fixed on
a non-uniform heavy coat, his right pocket
a holster for his pistol. A policeman
before, he saw no reason to stop.
Or more to the point, he saw nothing else
he could do and couldn't wait to do
some semblance of a patrol. Apologizing
for the suspicion, he was relieved
to see another, wondeing out loud
how long he would be able to so
easily define friend from foe,
distinguish those with purpose.
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