Flight, Fight or…Freeze?

Who’s there? I almost dare to ask

but the street’s been clear and I’m standing alone and I fear to declare unreasonable thought aloud to the lonely air but still I wonder…

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why so suddenly each and every hair,

prickle, prickle, prickle,

grows up my forearms?

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Was it you? My eyes dare the night-bird

perching on lighted pole.

Winging frigid air down my spine?

Surely no, but I beg all the same

you not leave me here with this…

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ambiguity…

-

of threat, it surely must be.

-

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Eeee-eeeek!

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Squeaks the street sign, or

was that from behind?

How long have I been standing here?

Surely I must go but first…

-

Gasp!

Breathe!

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What am I doing?

Stop shaking like cornered prey

in a four-way intersection of which clearly

I am the sole patron

with no others to force my will.

-

You’re still standing here!

Move!

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That guy on a bike a while back,

on Front street, maybe he’s turned around?

Tell me, dear Bird,

is someone coming…..no, don’t fly away!

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How else am I to quell the unease,

knowing I am un-well enough

to save myself from even nothing?

-

but still….

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It can’t be nothing

sending my blood retreating inward

to muscle,

abandoned skin alabaster.

-

It’s time, I dare.

Say I to the lurking:

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“Who’s….”

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Crack!

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“Aaaah!”

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Slap-slap-slap-slap slip-on sandals

are not meant for running,

no retrieving the one flung off:

Nothing again coming from behind.

Faster, I must,

than skin left on asphalt:

scrape-slap-scrape-slap,

lungs choking,

night-thing looming,

I’m sure of that.