DIVINE PROPERTY

By Tim Gavin

PROMPT—Privilege ...

I walk north on Atlantic toward Ventnor,

free to lose myself in the morning air thick

With salt and the smell of the ocean,

and not a single cop passes, no one stops me,

no desperate hand with a sign, nothing

to remind me except the nagging thought

of it all, how some of us, just for walking here,

for being here, are spared.

I can wander into Ozzie’s—get myself a tuna

sandwich on rye, sip black coffee without

the sting of a stare, I can order the apple pie too

and eat like an American, like I belong here,

every crumb mine.

No officer of law and order will bag my head,

not even if I took to the streets—bare skin

shivering, hurling curses at the invisible things

that haunt me. They wouldn’t tase me, cuff me,

or mistake me for someone else in this skin.

No need to ask me twice if I’m from here,

if I’m the right man, if I fit the picture

sketched in suspicion.

And what a thing to carry, this privilege of freedom,

to walk where I please while

a dire storm rips through

the south, each town catching its breath—

Georgia, the Carolinas,

dark valleys thick with smoke,

inflamed fire climbing highways,

every new city brimming with loss,

while I’m here, safe, swallowing bite after bite

in the calm before any more houses burn,

before any more fists tighten, before we rage

and blaze and try to rebuild.

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Tim Gavin's writing has appeared in many journals, including Barrow Street Review, Modern Literature, Poetry South, and others. His chapbook, Lyrics from the Central Plateau, was released by Prolific Press in 2018. His most recent book, A Radical Beginning, was released by Olympia Press in 2023. Tim writes from Newton Square, PA.