The Road Not Taken
I look out my window
and watch men
wearing goatees
and Levi 501s
confidently strutting
as though no one can break them.
Dreams rage through my mind
as I fantasize
wanting to be them
but I am a woman.
Wanting to be able to walk
down the streets solid,
boldly, not in fear.
Not being given looks
filled with disgust,
as though I am the
spoiled diaper thrown out,
buried in yesterday’s garbage.
But I am not.
Later
sitting in a bar
throwing shots,
drunken soldiers glare.
And I read the message on their faces,
that I might not make it out alive.
The bartender whispers,
" You better leave".
He points to the back door.
I glance over to the soldiers
as they stagger to the front,
and I dart.
Jumping on my bike with full throttle,
as I try to escape.
I ride out of town high.
When I come to a fork,
I take the road not taken
in hopes to start over again.