I walk down a dark street
hollering. A man, well outside arm's reach,
hears me,
looks up,
crosses the street.
My voice is baritone, my beard is unkempt.
Neither are my fault. I shout,
You! Yeah, you. Come
back over here. He hesitates,
shuffles across the unlit
road, his head
begging his feet to turn. Were you
avoiding me? He nods. Afraid
I was going to do something?
He nods
once. Fuckin’ hurt you? He stands
frigid. His bangs sway. I wouldn’t.
He peeks,
I’m gentle.
down the street behind
me. You can go.
He sprints out of earshot. I scream
regardless, Remember,
I ain’t fuckin’ scary.
You aren’t fuckin’ scared.
He doesn’t hear me, but I do.
Aly Allen is a trans poet, parent, and veteran with PTSD. She won the 2019 Lillie Robertson Prize for poetry. Her Current work can be found in New Note, Apocalypse Confidential, and her chapbook Approaching Valhalla from Bottlecap Press. She earned a BA in creative writing from the University of Houston and an MFA in creative writing from Oklahoma State University.