Harm

When our caregivers’ car draws up,

there is a tall thick-set man

loafing around in the street.

I don’t like the look of him.

There is something unsavoury

about his demeanour.

When I point him out,

the man pulls a black hood

over his head, and sidles away.

He moves slowly, with measured

steps, and is gone. I take a deep breath.

My guardian thinks he’s a vagrant,

my girlfriend is unimpressed.

But I know he was waiting for me,

that he has me in his cross-hairs,

that he means to harm me.

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