I know you
For me, it was an old Catholic priest
who picked me up hitchhiking,
touched my cheek, my inner leg,
asked me if I was an Italian
sorta little boy
I jumped out at the first stoplight
shaking, shivering on a humid day
I know what they will try
to do with you
Better to walk with a backpack burden
than hitch a ride in these times of trouble,
to be cold and alone than fondled
by a sick old man wearing a collar
I know what you know
A guy like him is probably still cruising
up and down the same bus route
over there on Troost Avenue