At night in my suburb
huge spiderwebs glimmer between the trees.
In the town square
on the green astroturf under the lights
a shoeless, shirtless man is doing yoga.
Dirty feet and a backpack on a bench.
It is 11pm and a warm breeze stirs my hair
And my eyes dart reflexively:
who is nearby, where I would run,
what’s the escape route,
‘What a sad thought to have
on a pleasant summer evening’, I think.
The quiet voice inside me answers:
Women after dark are always ready to run.