I met a strange woman


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


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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