Saturday Night Training


So much space,
so many seats,
why be cheap –
you’ve all piled into one
steaming heap.
Squeezed between the
arms of the patriarchy,
you compete,
you writhe,
bluffing your pride.
Smacking lips,
narrowing eyes
– they may as well be blind.

cold – she bristles
beneath the gaze,
alert to the empty train.
Charged, testing
like a bull
seeing red:
one touch and
you’re dead.
They don’t see
the crown –
it glistens
up on her head…

Sniggering laughter,
one sloppy ‘hug’ –
that’s it,
she calmly steps towards the
‘I respect you,
the question is:
Do you respect me?
I am proud
of my symmetry.’
A silence hangs,
she squares one
with her eyes:
‘I know you
see –
why can’t we

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