she walks in the darkness
at night, she is watched
her stalker is quiet
yet, she knows him well
he sits on his laurels
and spies until morn

she is his pawn
from dusk ‘til dawn

she strolls in the daylight
and still, he is there
his presence as visible
as it was before
he follows her footsteps
capturing each one

she is his scheme
his true daydream

she sits on a park bench
and reads from the paper
once more, he is near
awaiting each move
he lurks in the distance
and then, he appears

she brings reason
for such treason

she sleeps on a blanket
as he softly preys
ever closely to where
she is resting so sound
he wails like a werewolf
yet, she has no reply

anger ensues
his threat pursues

she awakens in darkness
with a blanket beneath her
but when did that blanket
become her life vest
she ponders this question
and re-boards the train

he is still there
she is unaware

she reaches her doorstep
it is half past eight
the same newspaper rests
on the sidewalk again
she begins to question
the acts of the day

he left his mark
while in the park

she straightens the lampshade
and opens the window
his entrance is handed
by her, that late night
he peers through the shutter
caressing her slowly

her beauty pinned
the stalking wind

© 2006 – Jill Eisnaugle’s Poetry Collection