pre-covid    a mask in my bag
in case someone coughed
on the bus    my barrier
one less cavity    open

brown leather    to replace
black isotoners i lost
gloves shield from brass
doorknobs & smeared mail

drench my hands beaded
sanitizer accidentally
ingested spewing out
french fries in my car

a boy i liked was told
by his father    not to exchange
body fluid    with anyone
thought he was made for me

at night    lurking in shadows
old man’s filthy fingers surface
shoved inside my vagina
he smirks while eyes roll back—

even with a thousand showers
grime clutches with fanged mouths
chomping into flesh    a parasite
shrouded & polished bright