Louise Wakeling
The man in the dark suit
that hot summer night her key was lost
did he find it does he keep it taped
in a diary at the back of a drawer
waiting to come back try every door
in the street — until the key fits
turns in the lock
her neck wears its ribband of bruises
thylacine stripes on her throat
where the shoelace bruised her skin
marks slowly fading in the weeks after
how every step brought him closer
and closer the man in the dark suit
the face she never saw squat neck
ears flap-angled from his head
the empty allotment behind her
rusting car bodies slumped in the grass
she goes through the actions reactions
why me why would anyone
want to kill me all the things
the world tells you I should have done
anything but get on that train
rewinds over and over
what stops her crossing any bridge
in the dark the sound of his breathing
her own screams afterwards
cutting through the night air
and all the while the indifferent
swish-swish of passing cars
