Dear Middle-Aged White Dude

Dear Middle-Aged White Dude,

I apologize, I don’t know your name

I shouldn’t feel too bad

I’m sure you’d say the same

Our acquaintance, after all, was ever so brief

We met yesterday on the street

You were walking one way, and I another

I was going to meet up with my mother

We were planning on shopping at some stores

You must remember me, you seemed to love what I wore

I didn’t think it was anything special

A skirt, my beat up converse, and a plain blue shirt

But you must have thought differently judging by your smirk

You called ‘Looking good there Babe!’

I thought I must have misheard, for there was no way

That a man old enough to be my father

Would look at me this way and crudely attempt to flatter

ME an underage teen

It was disgusting, simply obscene

Perhaps you thought I was a ride you could hitch

But at my upraised middle finger, you turned away

With a mutter of ‘Bitch’

Which I thought was rather rude

But I shouldn’t expect anything better from you

A Middle-Aged White Dude

Sincerely,

The Seventeen Year Old Girl You Catcalled