Why I Fear No Man

Erik Whitehouse

Every time he sees me, every single time,
Løvaas’ ghost possesses his body,
and, brandishing his cattle prod, he quakes. 

Spending every night thinking about pretty girls,
and fate heard him and sent:
oh god, with autism.

The twist in a Greek tragedy 
(the audience laughs,
this poor man whose predicament makes them cringe.) 

Ten years older than me,
but now he’s a teenage girl running from a dirty old man.
Six foot five. Could break my neck if he wanted.

Cowering among his friends.
Can’t you see? they say.
Can’t you see he’s afraid of you? 

Friends always asking him when is he going to start dating.
Asking me when am I going to stop.

🩺👻