March 4, 2017
I’m walking downtown--
Screech--A mismatched car losingIts paint stops.
The driver whoLooks just like the men On the street, Hollers something undignifiedMy way.
I wish I could holler backTell him at 18 I’m smarter than
His puny 30-year-old brain can fathom,Nastier than he would wantTo taste, and meaner than I lookFrom behind.
But I walk on, do not turnMy head or satisfy him with a smileOr wink. I look ahead and walk.I always do. He willDrive off and forget my ass.I will not forget Him.
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