Behind the Lady with the Shaved Head

The woman before me had a shaved head.

She walked slow and smooth up the subway stairs

with her hands tucked in her front jean pockets.

I wanted to sidestep her, to race up and escape the

masses, but instead I watched and lingered just behind.

Up the three flights she stayed cool, even, measured

as if the crowd wasn't there and their pace didn't matter.

At the top she turned left towards the NQRW trains.

Her slinky black purse hung off her shoulder. Her boots

were black and worn with a chunky heel. She wore vintage

Levi jeans with silver studs stuck into the seams.

They were frayed at the bottom. Then her hands came out of

her pockets. Her left arm swung casually, while her right hand

loosely carried an iPhone, like it was annoying to the touch. Someone walking by could've snatched it in an instant, but

her shy grip felt like an invitation, like the thief would be doing her a favor.

She had a big tattoo below the thin gold chain on her neck.

She had more tats on her back and arm, peeking out of her black tank top.

She chose to walk against traffic.

She never veered off course.

She stayed straight and steady as if she knew it was the other persons place to move.