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Trudging through
Piss soaked concrete
Avoiding wandering eyes
And evangelicals with megaphones
I send a prayer
Sit at the bus stop
Try to ignore the feeling
Of fear
The police car parked
On the corner
Stirs in the pit
Of my stomach.
Smile at the little girl in
The Bluey shirt
Sitting beside me
I avoid eye contact
With the bus driver
Slinking past the fare collector
I walk carefully
So the sparkling concrete cannot
Remember my presence
I make peace
With the eyes sliding
Down my neck
In the pristine white walls
With the squeak my shoes
On the linoleum
I leave
Spoils of war
Held loosely over my shoulder
An illusion of
Bell peppers
Sweet and fresh
And mine.

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