In the South Bronx, Waiting on Alanis
Stood-up on a rain date in New York City,
I dodged the sunset and hopped a “D” train home,
Where, brimming with blissful solitude,
I urged the Muse to purge me of ulcerous self-pity –
Sonic grooves by Alanis setting the mood
For repentant limerent spectres to roam.
Then ferocious catcalls in the corridor
Ripped me from an entranced state,
Echoed like rutting felines in the alleyway,
Too vulgar and sexual to be ignored,
Intruded on an impromptu mini-holiday —
My solitary, literary weekend escape.
Through a cracked peephole I dared,
Despite my paralyzing, unutterable fear,
To observe lewd gestures of the same
Vicious thugs whose vile words and three-pronged stare
Five years back had degraded me past naked shame,
Had left me drowning in blood and putrid smears.
In an update unbeknownst to me,
Buried beneath grim news headlines,
The terrifying trinity was on parole.
A mockery of justice…
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