I slept in the park
of Ottawa's City Centre
in-between the Tai-Chi artists
and the tinfoil folded flap con artists
still out on their amphetamine prowls
And I in the tallest patch
Of not too many cigarette butts
and not too much garbage
with my shirt spread out beneath me
for a blanket
My head rested
on my backpacks
and with one eye open
I watched a sun-glassed
moustached man
approach me
slowly
on two wheels
with the clear intention of
robbing me.
His lady friend stirred
nervously on the bench
across from me
and watched me to see
what would happen.
Sshe crossed her legs
and uncrossed them.
And crossed them again
and then sat on them.
She chewed her nails
and looked the street up and down
for any sign of police.
There were none.
And I could defend myself only with
the force of my glare
so I shielded
all of my belongings and all of my body
with the simple authority
of my presence
No weapons
No bells.
No words.
but I stared right into his brain and silently denied him
I was thankful to feel protected
by my own intensity
and my own intelligence
at that hour of the morning.
Mustachio cycled around me
circling me
like a bird of prey
circles a dying animal.
But finding himself
for the time
denied
he returned to his fidgeting
lady friend on the bench
where they sat together
and smoked
and watched me
and waited
for me to drift back off to slumber.
But instead I sat up,
alert
and wrote this poem.