Visible Man

Sometimes I catch people staring as I bike past them.

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the rings of Jupiter… In the split-second of my passing, I wander into and through their idea of what a black man is supposed to look like. The white gaze rakes me everywhere I dare to ride. My nose is pierced, my hair is on fire, my black cardigan fans out behind me as if night itself is my co-pilot. To encounter me is to question who you thought I would be when I arrived. A mother catches her son staring at me and smacks the back of his head.

I don’t have time for his confusion. I’m already two blocks away.