Mace in Her Pocket
She is used to walking unafraid
of the echo off her heeled steps,
moving through the parking lot
in a still-dark, early morning hour.
Mace in her pocket, fur coat on
her back, fist wrapped around
her keys, she takes a breath deep,
sighs, & slams the car door.
She has left him like this other
nights, no easier then than now,
& driving west, wonders how
many more nights they have left.
Headlights close her eyes briefly,
the white lines disappear & with
the rush of her blood’s flow, her
cheeks suffuse & begin to burn.
Eugene Stevenson, son of immigrants, father of expatriates, is author of The Population of Dreams (Finishing Line Press, 2022). His poems appear in Atlanta Review, Delta Poetry Review, San Antonio Review, San Pedro River Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, & have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. More at eugenestevenson.com