Suburbs

She rode that pink huffy all over the neighborhood
white wheels, cushy pink seat, and it flew like the wind.
Especially the time her friend’s dog Bandit, such a mean old
yellow dog, always barking and snarling wanting to bite somebody,
just waiting till the day he got free of the fence so he could sink
his teeth into her flesh, chased her all the way down the street.
That bastard dog hopped the fence, barking and running after her
she peddled hard and fast as she could with his teeth and saliva
and barking right on her heels, all the while screaming at the top of her lungs.
She turned the corner, almost home, almost home, “how the hell am I gonna
hop off this bike and run in the gate without him getting me?” She thought
while she peddled and screamed.  She turned that corner and that dog fell back,
stopped his chasing and barking and salivating, she out peddled
and out screamed him, but around that corner, right
there was another bastard, that older than her next door neighbor
Danny, laughing his fool head off. He had seen, and heard the whole thing.
It seemed he was always there, watching, waiting to make some fun of her,
or anyone, just like that dog couldn’t wait till the day he could hop the fence.
One time, her bedroom facing his in the house next door, he caught her,
caught her dancing her little girl fool head off, dancing up a storm with
the pink mini blinds wide open.  And he may have said something, the day after
at the bus stop. Or he may have just stood there, pointing and laughing again.