All American Girl

Sun, 02/07/2016 - 16:31 -- kptml

Jumping from my car

I grab at stuff spilling away from my grasp

And I do my best to avoid the unmake-upped gaze

That undoubtedly would appear in the rearview


In a half jog

I pass a middle-aged man

Slumped into a middle-aged car

And only when it is too late 

And I have no choice but to

Keep walking

Do I recognize the pornographic moans

Spilling out from the window space

In a soft tumbling journey

Directed at me


Eyes down and feet moving

The matted hairs on the back of my head

Untangle themselves in an attempt

To save me as

The wheels under him roll

To keep pace with me


As I become aware of my solitude

My heart begins to beat wildly against my ribs

And my muted vision searches for signs

To reassure me that the space I am suspended in

Isn't quite as empty as it seems


In tune with the hum of his groan

And the skid of my shoes

I hear the mocking strain of his voice whisper

Longing threats displaying the perverted

Acts he'd like to do to me

And as I pray for safety 

I hear his pedophilic mustache singing,

"Damn, I'd fuck that, damn"


Under a tsunami of his mutterings

And the weight of my bag

My legs struggle to go quicker up the slope

Towards civilization


And even as suddenly I feel him turn

His car from the parking area

My shockingly clear head

Insists I keep walking


For every time I blink

The possibility of his greasing hands

Grabbing at me from 

Behind fills my senses


So I walk and walk

Farther and farther from the 

Improbable danger


Until, only yards away from the 

Molding yellow bus

Full of witnesses sleeping in wait

To be taken to the Early College,

Do I stop


And breathe


Then, steadying myself,

I hurry on to class because,

God knows, I can't 

Afford another tardy and,

After all, this is just another day in the life

Of an all American girl

This poem is about: 
My community
Our world


Grant-Grey Porter Hawk Guda

Powerful expression. Always let poetry fill your life. Keep expressing your heart.  

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