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
28 October 2006