Ash Wednesday
I check my cross in the mirrors
Of car windows – a black smear.
It could be mistaken for a bruise.
Why am I afraid to be seen with it?
The Teslas bear their hawklike T’s,
The guys in AA their face tattoos,
The bus stops their tags. I walk
Like someone who has something
To hide, but wherever I go,
I am caught in God’s crosshairs.