Friday Ghost

By Kelly Walker
Friday Ghost poem by Kelly Walker, image by Pixabay

Her Friday night was not meant to be

behind a dumpster

teeming with broken bongs and second hand textbooks

near a house of pumping blood and bass

 

She had no plans to have her dress end above

her head and heart

as gone as her mind was

 

She had been with her wits

Before this

A sleepy obliviousness

where they said these things happen

but it wouldn’t happen to her

if she stayed out of the shadows

and never walked alone

But, statistically

it only needed time

 

Over again

death as each second passed

the muffle knocking in her ear

and the moan of a crimson ghost

told her

it was her fault

 

He grappled his hand around her vomit filled mouth

and slipped a foreign object

inside her body and mind

He placed his wet lips against her vibrating ear

and as her body shivered off the memory of her virtue

he whispered

“not all men.”

 

She said no

many times

As many times as her chest would allow

Just as she’d been told to do

But as she was failed

by gender roles and a ceiling of glass

he said not another word

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