Corner

When he comes near, I suck in my chest and stick my stomach out,
trying to make myself as ugly as a fish.

The force of his cologne hits me, sweet smelling, reminding me of all
the nice boys back home, but this man isn't nice, and that makes it
even more nauseating.

He's coming closer, little black eyes, beads of a burning hell, and I
pretend to be lost in sweeping the floor.

Once he's too close, before he can do anything, I walk over to the sink
in a last desperate attempt to flee, but there are no dishes left to be
washed.Nothing to distract him with.

I am in a corner. I must turn around.

That sick smile, knowing he's got me, I try not to think, instead look
at the way he's combed the last remaining strands of hair over his bald
scalp.

Asks me if I'm okay, me say yessirthankyousir, he reaches out his hand,
and in that moment I wish my father was here and I could run to him for
help.

I wish I could phone the cops and have him arrested, but how can I when
I'm illegal? He knows it.

And when he touches my shoulder in that oh so fatherly way, I wish
someone could tell me if this is sexual assault. It's just a shoulder,
that doesn't count, right?

In the frozen minutes of his presence, I hold my breath and promise
myself that next time, if there is a next time, I will take my things
and leave this place.

I will live on the street if I have to, I don't need his money if this
is how I must earn it.

But then if I leave, he could always call the cops on me, tell them I
stole something somehow. He's clever. He knows it.

Now I'm in a corner.