I crane my head and stare up at the 

camera mounted on the side 

of a gleaming new high rise

A little me is caught momentarily 

in a rounded black mirror

 

Whose charge is it to monitor 

the closed circuit broadcast

while i’m strafing slightly at street corners

pausing to intuit the most advantageous route

Do they watch me like a tv?

 

I used to cover the front-facing

cameras on laptops and phones

with a pit of scotch tape

hoping that it would foil

any attempts at surveillance

 

I often watch people 

Involuntarily out of the corners of my eye

I was taught early that trust is a luxury

This impropriety is hardwired in

And has me listening 

for the messages in inflections

the erectness in the spine 

the buckling of shoulders 

of a passerby

How wide, long, 

and quick 

are the footsteps on 

the sidewalk?

 

Gobbling up these hints

Hoping that, collectively,

They will answer the question:

 

We cool? 

 

And if not, 

I would rather be grounded

And present enough 

to ask the question:

 

What would it take 

to be able to look at each other 

directly in the eye 

on equal footing?