The preacher and his assistants are dressed impeccably, although they are not wearing coats on this cold day. Perhaps their faith keeps them warm. It takes me a minute to realize they are not ordinary evangelical Christians, but are rather Black Israelites. The preacher is sermonizing, not about how African-Americans are descendants of the Ten Lost Tribes of Israel, not about the visions of Frank Cherry or William Saunders Crowdy, not about sin or redemption, but rather about Satan. Specifically, about what Satan looks like. He is, the preacher teaches, a white man, with long red hair and a large red beard. I am a white man with long red hair and a large red beard, and as I come down the sidewalk, the preacher points at me and says, “That’s the look!” I just turn the corner. His voice is inaudible within a block.
quitting time
on the subway home I catch
a hint of sulfur
was born in Vermont and currently lives in Michigan. He has an MA in Creative Writing from the University of Illinois at Chicago, and he also studied poetry at Amherst College and the University of Notre Dame while pursuing degrees in different fields. His poetry has appeared most recently in Notre Dame Review, Rattle, and Northern New England Review.
