I haven’t decided which scares me more, 
Cars or men. 
So many vehicles on the roads these days are so tall, 
I call them pedestrian killers. 
Not all cars, but you know the type
The hood comes up to my shoulder, 
Which is saying something, because I am six feet tall. 
You’re more likely to die thanks to those guys
Because you won’t roll over the top like you might a sedan.
Cars, though, are predictable. 
Every day I can pick out who will run the red, 
Who will slip right on through when I have the right of way, 
Who will be aggressive with me. 
Men too are predictable, but volatile. 
When I leave my house for work I know there will be cars, 
After all, the city is built for them. 
The city too is built for men, but their access knows no bounds. 
I cross eastward on my way home
And a car almost runs me down.
My crosswalk theatrics ensue and a window rolls down, 
Exposing a man who calls, “I’m sorry, baby.” 
I stomp past, flip him off and wait to see if this act will cost me.
“Fuck you too then you big ass bitch.”
Relief rushes as I realize I got away with it,
I get to walk away this time.
So, I guess, if I had to say which is worse,
Being a woman or a pedestrian, let’s just say
I’d choose the car every time.