Trish Salah
POEMS
 

3 am on Maitland

I cannot help but notice my skirt is short and tight
my boots big, to my thighs
my top a scrap of net,
as the cruiser pulls up, its driver hails me.

I’m unpracticed, unprofessional
so slow to realize he is looking to pick up—
don’t know if that means I’m “safe.”

I refuse the offer of a ride,
and his cruiser shadows me 
and he’s a gentleman
sweet talkin’ me.

I’m curious as I get in, still playing my part, but virginal
Going on about my college, asking about his marriage.

I let myself be dropped a few blocks from my door
and keep his number for months.



   
   
   

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