I met a strange woman

yesterday.

She wore

horned-rimmed glasses

like a whore

like a dangerous librarian

and when she spoke to me

she said things about me

that I never knew.

She paid with 50 dollars—

I couldn’t believe it

it was only a shoelace

She might as well

have only been wearing

a pair of shoes

along with her angel wing tattoos

I followed her to the beach

and she lay there

letting the sun do things to her

while the men

missed-out

like lonely trees

casting small shadows.

She could’ve been anybody

but that’s not the point.

Who was she?

I’m a dangerous man.

That’s why I don’t go out, and I don’t approach the dangerous woman.

It would be like gasoline, getting with fire

So called, “Dangerous People” are a dime a dozen, and nothing bad ever happens to them

because, they’re liked interchangeable, pocket change

lasting for hundreds of years

on the streets.

I’m like a burning hundred-dollar bill

that won’t last—

easy to kill

and that’s why,

I stay away,

from the dangerous woman.

10 thoughts on “Stranger Danger

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