Not That Bad

NOT THAT BAD.

I was six when he Touched my place.

I didn’t know his name. He didn’t look me

In the face. And I walked away

As I fell from grace, But it’s not that bad.

Later on in the Subway there

I felt his breath as he Smelled my hair.

There wasn’t room In any other car,

But it’s not that bad

I was raised in  A world of men,

Taught to talk And dress for them.

Nevermind the cold, Or my self-respect,

Cause it’s not that bad.

Friends they told me of The things they’d seen,

So I was young, but  I was never green.

They hoped that someday  I would know to scream

If it got that bad.

Walking home on that Bright cold day.

He broke my nose, Told me, “Down and stay,”

But he finished and I got up and walked away,

So it’s not that bad.

On my street in front of The corner store

I returned his smile, But I guess he wanted more,

Cause now I can’t tell you How these stitches tear,

But it’s not that bad.

I was twelve when I died to life.

Forty-two stitches and  A kitchen knife.

My legs closed and Do not passage give,

But it’s not that bad.

I got the nerve to Tell him to go, but he

Showed up again With a gang in tow

And a gun in hand Just to settle the score.

If I die it won’t be my problem anymore,

So it’s not that bad.

I’ve been good. I’ve stayed my hand.

I should go to  The Promised Land,

But lo and behold Even God is a man,

But it’s not that bad.

C.2020 Willa Mamet