On my walk:
My eye was twitching.
The wind was high.
The dog was skittish.
My smile was tight.
A green mini-van
maybe twenty years old
the hatchback open
driven by a dark-haired man
with large biceps
in a track suit.
My imagination made him
into a violent gangster
who'd shoot me in the back
if no one else were around.
The silver-haired man
with the electric mower
was a serial killer
with a bloody basement.
The two dudes on bikes
a vaguer threat;
just don't talk to me, please.
The moon is almost full:
pregnant with dark possibilities.
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