Hips don't help
when I'm hightailing home
hurrying...
Times like these, I'd rather be asexual.
I see shadows slink-scurrying
slithering slyly
sneering...
I hate your ability to intimidate.
I want to turn toward and
take on your trash
toughly...
But there's five of you and one of me. And my hands are small.
No matter the mothering moralists
who match me to men
meaningfully...
I am a woman, and I am still afraid.
Self-defense can only go so far...
and my hips don't help.