She pauses in her work
the man is staring.
Breathing through his mouth.
His breath smells of carrion,
rancid and dead.
She freezes in place.
Flamboyantly, yet tastelessly dressed,
a garish plaid waistcoat
an olive drab sports jacket.
Pomaded hair with a thick crust like a tortoise’s shell.
Uneven splotches of beard testify to a recent unfamiliarity
with a razor.
Eyebrows so long they are worn slicked back,
pointing towards his ears.
sprouting tufts. Hair growing like rye grass – proud
Drop the broom, she thinks
RUN, but she’s unable to move.
Not unlike a deer in headlights she can only stare.
With each passing second her eyes grow wider.
A soft mewling sound rises from her throat
as she whimpers in fear.
Is this it then?
Is this how it ends? In fear?
When her bladder releases; the warmth gives her purchase
She pivots on the ball of her foot,
like a dancer.
The broom falls unnoticed into the snow.
She begins to run.
away from his outstretched hand.
His hand that clasps only air. Not today…