Wander
to the bus stop, sweet love,
and
stumble down the high-rise street
in
black-glimpsed pre-morning air
in
your worn shoes and new skirt.
How
long can you stand in the dirt?
glancing
nervously at the ditch/woods behind you
and
the cars passing by
and
the house across the street from the
church.
That parking lot, deathly, empty,
caught
up in old town's frog-croaks,
is
pretty damn scarey, too–
the
punks skate there and stick
cigarettes
in mother mary's mouth. Oh,
and
then you wonder–will a thick bull
Ally
crawl up behind you and snag you
with
his teeth and roll you into
the
water and pull you
under
and drown
you
and eat
you?
It's more than possible! screams
the
mind of the girl,
but
paranoia is always something
that
she has no trouble claiming as her own.
Alone
and alone and trembling you
wait
for the flashing light
that
announces to the world-sounds
around
you that you have something to account for you,
that
you're not a girl too easily taken,
because
you have someplace
to
be and someone that expects you
and
will notice if you disappear
or
end up in an Ally's belly.
Does
it ever come, ever come, ever come?
she'll
pick at the green-dried beggar weeds on
her
shoes and her skirt,
glance
over her shoulder, real-tremble and fake-glare
to
show those invisible watchers that
she
knows that they're there, and that
she's
watching and is fierce enough
to
do something about
her
danger. Oh, danger, oh, danger.
Lurk,
lurk, and moan-growl in the bushes,
absorb
how the pretty girl
moves
her feet, lifting them to pick away
at
blemishes that she shouldn't mind
because
she's not dressed all
that
well anyway. Oh, but perfection
breeds
desire, and you know how those kinds
lurk
to wait for specimens to see in the
flesh
of figures brought out of dreams.
Wander,
wander to the bus stop, cruel love,
and
avoid the white lines and the headlights
and
the grape vines on the palm trees.
Oh,
danger, oh, danger, and a brave face.
Tremble
not love, and ask sister mary
to
share.
28 October 2006