Empty Handed

 
In poet's alley after dark
some dudes have me by the throat
Eyes empty heart hollow
reflecting the glint of a knife
the shock of rude hand panic  
contagious inside my coat
 
I do not carry cash  
or argue  
with creatures of so few words
No sense debating the hope  
my aging feature-free phone
will satisfy their hunger
or assuage their thirst
when we all know  
the truth is
it wont
 
But a token punch from the leader  
and we're done
Their footsteps swirl debris  
in a fist of wind
leaving dignity spitting battered  
like an old shoe  
discarded and left to grin  
while a cat stalks the garbage
to the subway groans
and not a soul I know
picking up