he was a burly man
maybe mid-forties
she was nineteen,
a little naïve
a little Lolitaish
she didn’t know him
nor him her
he wore his uniform
the cloak of power and authority
like a sheath on his *****
the only one he had today
her ******* chafed as her bra bit
jeans over tightly wrapped buttocks
she pulls the cord to stop the bus
it is her stop
two blocks from home
she gets up and turns
to face the door
he eyes her from behind
with vision hungry for a taste
just a taste
of what lies beneath
she is thinking about getting home
before she freezes
the door opens
she takes a step down
unaware
he gets up silently
and pushes her out
“that’s where you belong you *****,
in the gutter.”
unexpected tears mingle
with rain in the mud.



copyright/all rights reserved Audrey Howitt 2011