You almost wait for it. Walking alone
night laid on the city, just a scrap of a white girl.
You might pick up the step, throw a few
"I'm stronger, better, smarter, only taking the bus
'cause parkings so damn expensive" looks
either way across the street to catch the bus;
never mind you've not learned the route,
board, sit, toss a few more middle class white girl looks
and breathe before you get up, get off, get moving
down the final street to your cozy three bedroom, two bath,
deck in the back, manicured in the front,
Middle American house and forget, with the dark,
under trees with whole new personalities
that reach far into the sidewalk like some crone
hunched over a potion that surely will produce a prince this time,
that they do rape Middle American girls with pearly skin, five foot
five,
a buck and a quarter soaking wet, perfect size five, six on a bad day,
they don't care that you were the belle of the ball
four years standing and still have a hell of a time finding competition
some ten years later, they'd give a shit, truth be known,
about that cute perky image you've perfected,
hell you've heard the speech, lived the recovery,
this is no crime of passion, angry lovers beating
each other into submission on occasion,
it's power, control, domination at it's finest,
strapping you down with a brown arm, black arm, white arm,
green, blue, black eyes it all adds up the same,
so you'd do best to hurry your ass
down the street, tuck yourself into that king
sized feathered bed and stay grateful
that one more day has gone and with it the fear,
if only for a few.