Shadow Dance
by Anitra L. Freeman
All Hallows,
when the shadows walk
A man in a gray silk suit
frowns past the rags sleeping in a doorway
Shadows dance around him
poor man, broken, skinny, ragged,
wearing his face,
waves begging hands
schoolteacher, prim, starched in blue dress,
wearing his face,
scolds his shortcomings
drunk weaves around, supported by tarts,
while wearing his face,
snowing drugs from all pockets
Business man looks straight ahead
and scowls his firm way home
At the bus stop where the young blacks cuss
and laugh and slap each other
Fifty Year Woman in tight-waved hair and tailored dress
draws into the far corner with a frown
Shadows dance around her
big bellied teen girl
wearing her face
stands forlorn at a locked door
stern, high-collared preacher
wearing her face
looms dark in the pulpit
naked, shouting dancer
wearing her face
writhes in a many-colored feast of bodies
She reads the Wall Street Journal
with tight-pursed lips
Down the same street
moves a writer
Shadows dance around her
and she dances
arm in arm with the bag lady
wearing her face
she waltzes
and smiles at the man who lies in the doorway
face to face with the punk
wearing her face
she rocks and slams
"Yo!" she answers the young blacks at the bus stop
As she dances into the hallowed sun
on the other side of shadows
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