The fear of what you don’t understand – napowrimo day 10

10 Apr

That woman sitting there on the grass
Dried blood on her shin, all over her shin
And dark slick trouser pants to the knee
I hope she doesn’t talk to me

She drinks from a bottle in a brown bag
Which is a bit stereotypical don’t you think?
She murmurs sometimes in guttural tones
Picking a scab open to her bones

Showing some sense she’s sat in the shade
Some respite from the blistering sun
I can’t take my eyes from where she is splayed
I don’t know why but I’m very afraid

I’m sure she just muttered about killing someone
She’s all by herself and the size of a house
Was she somebody’s wife, maybe somebody’s mum?
Come on bus, won’t you hurry and come?


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