Poem: To my Gas Station Stalker

Your car is that of a lower-middle class dream

Your eyes begging me to cry and scream

A smile so sacred to only your mother

An upper lip accent you own like no other

50 cent blaring while you stare at me deeply

My butthole so tense it starts to creep in me

How you found me was beyond imagination

Now I’m begging to find some salvation

The store front I enter it’s calming inside

I pay and am cordial thankful to be alive

I step back outside and find you’re still there

Only now you’ve moved; another place to stare

I dash to my car, lock the doors and exhale

Engine started, car in drive it’s now time to bail

It was a brief meeting but one I won’t forget

Not seeing your face again is something I won’t regret

To my gas station stalker I bid you adieu

I am hoping that encounter was the last one from you