Backseat Killers

Women die to violence, warranted by their gender

the flashing headlights don't warn her of imminent death

never looking in the backseat, so naive, so tender

car in park, death's arms, a man's arms, steal her breath

as she bleeds out in her '95 chevy caprice

she remembers the light, and thinks, maybe

I shouldn't be out at night, all alone, all affright