one day she was sent
to a man sprawled ‘cross the pavement
in blistering sun
he, ignored by everyone.
the nice girl instinct compelled her,
alongside Hippocratic responsibility as a doctor.
her good samaritan arc began,
he her neighbour, the collapsed man
she offers him aid,
and suggests he move to the shade.
her medical assessment deems him well
but onlooker pressure to do more, she cannot quell.
he asks her to buy him heavy drink-
she tells him to have another think.
they compromise and she buys him food
just like a good samaritan should.
She wishes him a good afternoon
but all too soon
the tale begins to muddle
as he approaches for a ‘cuddle’
her sense of unease
overwhelms her compulsion to people please
“I’d rather not but all the best though”!
- he snaps and his true colours show.
the nausea hits
as he starts to shout about her ****
and chips at her sense of self respect
with an accusing “you look like you like ***”
she fights irate tears
over his leers,
summons her tough
and states that’s enough.
when he spits on her feet
she backs down the street,
maintains her false front
as he yells ******* ****.
words shouldn’t cut
but she’s branded a ****
and yes, we should not give to receive
but oh how i grieve
that to help is to choose
sexist abuse
i want to follow jesus’ ways
but he did not have to contend with the ******* male gaze