The Stalker

On the corner of Melbourne and Dufferin, three days after the attempted-break-in

In the middle of the sky, a juiced-up STALKER billboard: this one says,


Thinking, in the newly dark days, of the man I feared most of my life, the man hiding downstairs, or in cupboards;

under the bed; once in a tiny box I had to check before sleeping with my flashlight and knife, when sleeping alone.

Reading today too that sexual assaults are on the rise and thinking of other young women,

combing their drawers and crispers for tiny rapists,

As I look up at him, thinking, This sign is a fucking abomination.

Rapes and attacks go up and down these streets: has CBS placed it here to smugly remind the victims?

Or are they just trolling for more fear.

I used to have a framed picture of Ted Bundy’s electrocuted head on my wall, like a trophy.

All the girls I see are in running shoes: I wish them up the metal poles with hacksaws to slash at what presides above us,

FEAR, the local MP and fact of life.

Then they stamp on the ruins and run like Atalanta, up and over men slouching in the shadows, and below the bridge over the water,

to call a meeting in order that begins with a map of all the soft, slug-like, sleeping men to visit and watch, to begin.




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