No Dinner and Flowers, Just Stalking

No Dinner and Flowers, Just Stalking
by John Grey
The telephone rings.
A car cruises by
your apartment.
Another letter arrives.
He’s in the next shopping aisle.
The parking lot
is a hundred of him.
The wall shadows become
a succession of his silhouettes.
He’s every noise,
each chilly brush of wind
against your cheek.
He feels so close some times,
his rancid puffs of breath
ooze out of your mouth.
His footsteps are
the tag line to your own.
His body grows
from the dark places
where yours end.
The cops are no help,
your friends the same.
Lives are lived too singly
for your own good,
are as unprotected
as the scurrying mouse
in the grain field
hunted by hawks.
For months, he’s imagined
he loves you.
He’s husked you down
until you’re nothing
but your fear.
You stow your heart away,
give him your trembling to adore.

0 thoughts on “No Dinner and Flowers, Just Stalking

  1. Put out an APB for this poet, he’s got the criminal mind down pat. The poem addresses the reader as the ‘stalkee’ which gives you shivers down your livers [even though i’m a guy and technically the stalker would hence be gay…nothing wrong with that]. But yeah, i get you, the reader puts themselves in the position of the woman being stalked by an infatuated madman.
    By description, this stalker sounds like someone out of Misener’s neighborhood, possibly his neighbor or the neighbor of the whale-dude or the neighbor to the crackhouse that caught fire {love your neighbor!}.
    Wouldn’t it be funny if there was a stalker who stalked while holding a corn stalk (with ears of corn on it)? Goofy.
    In any case, very gripping perspective piece! Thanks.
    By the way, author’s name is ‘Grey’…and previous poem mentioned grays in it…i spotted the flow-chi, do i get a chocolate chip cookie?

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