i shake off what little fear remains like fish scales
from a flaying knife.
"yo, you a real gangster,
I give you props!"
A man salutes me as I bike by.

maybe he's right, and courage does
stream down my legs like sweat.
I'm biking half-naked
through Red Hook,
my hair a wet rope down my back
in a black lace bra and silver helmet
gleaming like a dirigible above the empire
state building
of my neck.