Barefoot in the Grass

by Ian Mullins

she's a danger to herself,
the police say; you never know

who might pass

and who might stop, turn around
and move in for the kill:

but perhaps that's what she wants,

the woman in the local news
who stands beside the lonely road

wearing a long coat and a simple smile,

waiting for lost and lonely drivers

before she gently opens her coat
to feel eyes soft as winter wind

stroke her bared skin as quietly

as a cat rubs fur against your legs,
discreetly marking you as someone

who knows how to love, how to play;

a warm lap to curl on when

the house is so lonely and cold

the wise thing to do is to get outside
and soak a little more winter
deep into your bones, risking nothing more

than running for your lonely life

when the eyes are too wide, too cold:

when the nice policeman will offer

nothing but a blanket and a warm ride home