I can still feel his breath 

on the back of my neck

just as humid, unwanted,

as it was

on yours.

 

The look in his starving eyes

glazed over 

with feral lust,

fingers gripping

your hips

leaving bruises

shaped like his desire.

 

When I pulled on my cleats

and brought out my aluminum bat

and threatened to send

his balls

into the outfield

if he came at me one more time,

I never realized he’d turn to you.

 

Now, when I walk past that office, 

just off the corner 

of the choir room,

where he took you

apart

piece by piece,

 

I can feel the hastiness 

in his fingers

as he tears your panties

in his eagerness

to satisfy himself.

 

I should have 

said something,

but I didn’t

and now 

we are here.