a poem for Halloween
by Kat Georges
It’s all sex and violence. And money. And money.
And it’s all in your eyes at the end of the bar.
Some girls are into that. Some aren’t. Some are.
Some girls aren’t girls. Some are women. Me.
They offer free taxis for girls like me at the end
of the night. But nothing is free. I don’t live far
I tell the man at the bar, but he says Don’t be foolish.
Don’t walk. Take a car.
But I walk anyway. Say again, It’s not far. And I feel
your eyes follow me out the door. And on the street,
click, click, my heels on cement. It’s cold tonight,
my breath steams the air. I look behind me . . .
nothing is there . . . But eyes and ears don’t always
sense everything, and late at night out walking,
the air is a fog. It’s like London or Frisco, all shadows
and still. And nothing is clear. Nothing is clear.
I see my house up ahead—well, the building I live in.
See my room on the third floor, left the light on.
Above the stoop, see the front door, I feel for my keys.
I hear a crackle behind me, like a foot crushing leaves.
I whip around with a “Hey!” But again—no one’s there.
Across the street, a young couple don’t seem to care.
I turn back around, there’s the house, there’s the stairs.
Got my key out like a blade, ready to stab.
And then I look—you’re there, at the top of the stair.
With eyes full of hunger—how’d you know I live there?
So tired right now—just want to sleep. But I just keep
walking down this street. Down that street. Down . . .
Down this street and that street . . . Far, far away . . .
I know you’re still there . . . I still feel your stare . . .
Forever I still feel your stare . . .