Catcall
I’m walking downtown--
Screech-- A mismatched car losing Its paint stops.
The driver who Looks just like the men On the street, Hollers something undignified My way.
I wish I could holler back Tell him at 18 I’m smarter than
His puny 30-year-old brain can fathom, Nastier than he would want To taste, and meaner than I look From behind.
But I walk on, do not turn My head or satisfy him with a smile Or wink. I look ahead and walk. I always do. He will Drive off and forget my ass. I will not forget Him.
