saw my rapist ex-boss at the convenience store today

When you spot a monster on the street

you must not scream.  That raw, wet ripping

of your throat is medicine for him.  When you go

to park your scooter, don’t look up

if you hit the curb, act like you meant to, of course

he hasn’t flustered you.  He can smell fear

and nerves and can hear your teeth tremble

in their cages, don’t look up, don’t

look up.  Don’t move, in fact, just sit there

like you mean to, like this space

is your space, and if he can smell fear

can he smell war if you think on it?  Smell

wet earth soaked with blood, smell battlefields

dusted with gunpowder, smell the soldier

of you?  Be warrior, be pride, and when

he shakes his umbrella

and leaves, his footprints

puddles of oil, only then

may you raise your growling head, and stand

in the doorway, your hand over your

shuddering heart, pledging allegiance

to the monster you know you can become

if you must.