Main Street

out front of
the Conway post office
fresh from mailing

notes to a college
search committee, I turn over
the last question asked

snap back
to earth when
sputum lands

inches from
my leather dress shoes
three teenage

white boys parked,
the one in the passenger seat
who watched me walk

up; timed his throat
clearing just so spitting towards
isn’t no crime

this ain’t China w/
some government
ban on discharging

in public the veil
between town &
gown stripped bare

I climb inside the rental
car where my husband
asks if everything’s okay

confused I am careful
when I describe spit coming
in my direction, thinking

of our next-door neighbors
in an even smaller town,
good ol' boys who proudly

fly the southern cross