WHY I WEAR A PHILLIES CAP

Because sometimes we run out of coffee filters

and I have to take my little boy with me

out to the store and see bumper stickers

that embolden stares. And because

once I took him to the playground and saw him

pushed down and called North Korean. Because

I followed the kid back to his mother. Because

I told her what happened and she shrugged.

My entire adult life, I wore baseball caps—

hid my eyes beneath a brim of logos, always

waiting for the next thing. Because

many people around us voted for him and

because my son isn’t four anymore. Because

I need to model how to box fear, even as I expect

a punch. Awake in bed, I wonder how I’d respond.

How, if someone knocked me over, could I do it?

Could I stand up, tap my son on the back

and tell him, it’s okay, then stoop for the cap?

Could I ignore the man yelling,

his hand busted by the steel in my cheek?

Could I walk away praising the one who made me?

Putting the cap back on, would the brim hide my eyes

as I tell him love is real, as I pocket another stone?

Jae Newman was born near Seoul. He is the author of one collection of poetry, Collage of Seoul (Cascade Books 2015). He lives with his wife and children in Rochester, New York. Jae has led workshops for the Poetry Foundation on reading and writing poems; his poetry has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Currently, he is at work on a new collection of poems tentatively titled Fishbones.  @jaenewman