Stand Up

This angry woman
could be your aunt, your mother,
her expression grim and determined
facing you here
in your mask and helmet,
your Kevlar and your weapons,
tear gas and taser,
club and gun,
your hard and impenetrable surfaces
unlikely to allow her
much consideration.
While she has nothing
hiding her soft flesh,
nothing hard enough
to deflect a blow,
nothing to convince you
she can’t be silenced,
brushed aside,
mowed over,
like a homely weed
in your ordered garden—
nothing but the ardent
refusal
shining in her eyes.