“It’s Eight, And Little Red’s In The Hood”

“Hey girl, where you going?”

Sun’s hardly gone down,

And the wolves are out and about already.


“Stranger, Danger!,” I remember.

Head down, looking on the ground,

Make no eye contact, quick steps away.


But they circle me, taunting rapidly.

There’s just no going forward,

No retreat back.


Unwanted hands move in to trespass.

I grimace, recoil, shun their attention.

“No, stop it,” I glower.


They continue, and I stop flinching.

Pull out my kukri,

Cut, thrust, and slash.


All is still, and I walk on.

I text Grandma:

“Sorry, will be late, am on my way.”

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