Karen J. Weyant

Learn early. At those fourth-grade slumber parties,
pretend to fall asleep when your friends start playing

Bloody Mary in the upstairs bathroom. Ignore
their chants of her name, their screams, their stories.

You don’t want to even imagine what they believed
they may have seen. Later, when you start driving,

check your backseat before you climb into the driver’s seat.
It also wouldn’t hurt to check under your car.

If you end up parking (which you shouldn’t do) 
with your boyfriend and you both hear scratching,

a raspy scrap across the roof or the side of the car,
don’t open the door, even if you feel a tug on the handle.

Drive to safety. Turn on the radio. The news 
about the escaped prisoner will be all you need to know. 

And never, ever pick up a hitchhiker, even if it’s raining
or it’s cold. Even if she looks innocent and sad,

and that dress she is wearing is way too thin.
Even if, she, in the headlights, looks a little like you.

 

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KAREN J. WEYANT‘s speculative poems have appeared in Caesura, Cold Mountain Review, Devilfish Review, Eye to the Telescope, Gingerbred Lit, and Strange Horizons. She lives and writes in northern Pennsylvania.