Concrete Streets

My ladylike mother, raising a blue-jeans daughter No dresses for my back-to-school shopping- After school shortcut with Amy, my friend Grassy flowered path, trees and birds For my autumn birthday, I give myself the new Black Stallion book from the library So eager to take it home, fall into the pages Still, at the final bell, I wait for Amy Best friends are supposed to wait... But minutes lag as the yard empties I am alone, as I leave Our shortcut is deserted, silent The birds do not sing today A footstep crunches behind, then A stranger, tall to my short self His junior high days long over, With a sour smell, a greasy smile Immobilized, I feel my pulse beat In my throat, clutching my Black Stallion book "Hey, what's your name, baby?," he slurs With drunken breath and crawling eyes, Then his arm slides around my almost-fourteen-year old waist, and his foul stink Whispers in my ear, "Oh baby, what a body" I don't think, don't plan I just run But he is there, pushing me down as his hands grope my almost-fourteen-year-old breasts From somewhere deep rises rage- HIT HIM! HIT HIM! in giant flashing red letters My fists, smashing into his arm, my voice, unlocked, "Go away, GO!" And he does suddenly go; my saving grace, Being unladylike- When I make it home, on shaking legs, my mother scolds me for the tears in the knees of my new bluejeans Which cost so much money! I say nothing And my Black Stallion book is gone. The next day, from school, I take the long way The concrete streets of populated protection I can't tell Amy why I won't take our shortcut I can't tell even my own mother So she finds other friends to walk home with When the book comes overdue, the librarian chastises me For my lack of caregiving and responsibility I swallow salty-hot tears, and borrow money To pay the fine, for I can not return what is lost. 9/23/18