cure for a cold

a masked man with a gun
sticks the barrel into my ribs
as i take a detour down
a dark alley, he asks me
for directions.
where's the nearest bank, he says.
around the corner i tell him,
they have a drive through atm too,
i put my hands in the air.
it used to be a Boston Market, but
it's a bank now.
east or west, he asks.
that way, i tell him, pointing.
maybe north, or northwest.
he sneezes.
god bless you, i say to him.
he nods and wipes his nose
with his arm.
what's the best way to cure
a cold, he asks coughing into his sleeve
what? answer me, he says,
pushing the gun harder
into my belly.
i don't have all day,
banks close at twelve on Saturdays.
what's the best way to cure a cold.
answer me!
I've had this nagging cough for weeks,
how do i get rid of it?
umm, rest, liquids, juice, sleep,
i tell him. but i'm not a doctor.
i go on WebMD all the time though.
try some cough syrup.
what kind? over the counter?
i have a prescription, but it's
no better than the stuff you can
get at the drugstore. some of them
make you drowsy, so you might have
to be careful when you're loading your gun.
also, chicken soup. hot chicken soup.
you trying to get funny with me?
i hate soup, do i look like someone
who eats soup?
i look at him, there's a scar down
middle of his forehead
and a tattoo of an electric chair
on his neck.
no, i say. no, but really, soup
is good for you when you have a cold.
hmmm. he says, lowering the gun.
maybe.
he sneezes again and begins to cough,
bending over, trying to catch
his breath. i feel feverish too, he says.
where can i get some soup?
try whole foods, or wegmans, but
they'll be packed today.
you can get it freshly made
in those hot bins. okay, okay.
he says. i'll get some soup.
here, i tell him, handing
him my handkerchief. it's clean.
you can have it.
okay, thanks, he says. don't follow
me or tell anyone about this.
i won't i tell him.
chicken soup, i yell out as he
pulls the mask off and darts
out of the alley.