There was absolutely no way
to make a life, no matter how much you read,
how much time alone.
A very nice man,
veritably “strapping” and “you know what that’s for”
I booted up, “got
my stagger back” was suddenly happy thinking
about a possible walk after dark, whence I would not be raped and could
show off a mountain, like it was fucking
mine.
One day he “want to know everything about you”
he “like you even more after seeing you with your kids”
died unawares when given the opportunity
to follow up on why I felt
“kinda saddish and weird”.
Yes, I hear you,
why do I always secretly refer to things?
Things almost no one will know?
Some one is knocking, they have taken a shower,
put on a fancy corduroy shirt and come to tell you
they have googled you
you are beautiful
“I must now pack
and go”.