The back of a South Delhi bus
Behind a dumpster on Stanford grounds
An alley next to St Vincent’s hospital
A woman is bent, crumpled, discarded.
In my bed.
His body on top of hers.
Did you hear that?
I wonder if he’s ever heard those words before.
I wonder how many times he hasn’t heard them.
She whispers again, whimpers, wriggles.
He hears nothing.
His greedy hands on her waist
Grabbing, pulling, taking what doesn’t belong to him.
But it does.
You can have it now.
I don’t want it.
A voice screams.
He hears now.
He’s in an alley on top of a woman
And in her eyes he sees his reflection.
If you have been affected by the content in this poem we encourage you to access one of the following helplines:
Sexual Assault Crisis Line: http://www.sacl.com.au/