Judith Skillman
White Bicycle, For Drew
in memory of Sarah Tucker, January 12, 2006
It was a hit and run.
It was a black Honda at Polk
and Geary, and she died seven hours later
at San Francisco General. 9:45 am.
Her last word, Hey
was caught by witnesses,
and this detail they chose
to run in the journal.
A man co-opted her roadside shrine,
marked by a white bicycle
and flowers. You said you couldn’t
mourn there because
this time the reaper
took the form of transvestite.
A large black man in heels
wearing a dress and wig,
his broken teeth—
(they haunt you like
a night terror)—
his broken teeth
spilled hate on MLK day—
Hey mofo, suck me dry shorty
I bought this girl flowers
seventy dollars worth…
Take a good look
at the place where she lay
waiting for the ambulance,
wanting yet not wanting to die.
(Was she conscious? Warm?
Cold? Bleeding internally?
Did she wear a helmet?)
You’ve told me
there’s no place left
to grieve in the city.
Not a two by two
square of asphalt,
not a plot without a madman.
Do you know
the color of her hair?
You said they all called her Tucker.
A few years ago
you helped her in the computer lab.
There was no crystal ball.
If so you could have said
Don’t ride your bike
On the night of January 12, 2006,
and she’d have stared at you
like you were as crazy
as the schizoid
who took over her shrine.
Judith Skillman is the author of Came Home to Winter (Deerbrook Editions, 2019) and 15 other poetry collections. She has received grants from Artist Trust and the Academy of American Poets. Her poems have appeared in Poetry, Cimarron Review, Zyzzyva, We Refugees, and elsewhere. Visit judithskillman.com.
SUBMIT to What Rough Beast via our SUBMITTABLE site.
If you enjoyed today’s poem, and you value the What Rough Beast series, consider making a donation to Indolent Books, a nonprofit poetry press.