dark night
walking home after jiu-jitsu
confidence
© Rachel Green December 2024
the woman I walked past was eating chips
and barely forty winters old, and yet
she had a face to launch a thousand ships
with broken nose and pockmarked skin and set
her mouth in such a steely line, projects
a "fuck off" vibe round her like a shield
to dissuade conversation and reject
compassion for her fate in life and yield
no charity. She holds her carriage proud
and looks me in the eye: a challenge met;
for which I offer no response aloud
but an internal voice with comfort set:
I have no need to bear this soul a grudge
my life was hard but who am I to judge?
© Rachel Green December 2024
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