One planted his hand on my thigh,
the other leaned over the torn seat in front of us
like he was ready for the show to begin.
I hated the look of his buck teeth,
his stupid smirk.
“How are you?” the one next to me
said running his hand
up and down my thigh.
I pushed it away
before I said fine. I wasn’t fine.
The bus was empty and I was alone
in the back. I tried to move.
Told them not to touch me
but the one hanging over the seat
grabbed both of my arms and held them
I tried to kick my feet
the one who sat next to me
grabbing them and unbuttoning my jeans.
He shoved his hand into my panties
and rammed his fingers into my vagina.
I pleaded for them to let me go
because my stop was next.
I buttoned my jeans and grabbed my bag
and fled up the aisle before the bus even stopped.
“How was your day?”
My mother’s voice was warm
but I didn’t tell her what happened
I was scared. Scared I provoked them.
“It was good,” I replied
I didn’t understand.
I only knew I was ashamed,
as if I had done something wrong.
Kristen Williamson is currently a Graduate in English Literature and Creative Writing at Binghamton University in New York, where her fields of study include poetry and fiction. She has been featured in Slink Chunk Press, The Stray Branch, The Zine and others.