Like many women, I’ve been cat-called dozens of times. Men seem to think if I’m walking down the street alone it’s acceptable for them to say inappropriate things; I’ve even been catcalled while running. When that happened I channeled the experience and my feelings into a poem.

To The Man Who Shouted ‘What does your pussy taste like?” As I Ran By

It tastes briny,
like the ocean.
It surges, waves pounding
the surf, punishing
the sand simply for always
being present, for never
leaving well enough alone.

I keep running,
ready to drown him
in a sea of my pounding
feet.

This poem was originally published by Rising Phoenix Review and is reprinted here with permission.