I hadnt stolen a parking spot
hadn’t voiced more than a
“damn”, “traffic”, “san francisco”, “I should have known better”
I had wanted to have ice cream,
to park my damn car,
to have a fun night
Yeah you, CUNT.
CUNT CUNT CUNT CUNT
he yelled it from his expensive car
like it was a recorded message.
I wore a sweater and jeans,
a sweater and jeans.
I look at him in awe, then, in a beg to stop
then as a “Why?” a kind, gentle “why”
that night, I was his victim
someone to make feel like nothing when he had no idea
I already did
San Fransisco, CA
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