Poetry | The Street Maiden

The Street Maiden whistles 

lone hollow notes as

rain spears at Her grey skin and slips 

from long, iron nails as

the three-legged hound and tailless cat trail 

after Her frosted tunes

(hear, Her tune)

(here, Her tune)

cracked crab claws 

tossed from roadside stalls clatter 

against crown caps

to the drains

that gurgle and shrill

in Her wake

(hear, Her tune)

(here, Her tune)

Think twice before you

lurk in corners 

for lone girls making 

for their cars at night

when the downpour masks 

your footsteps

Think twice before you

let your eyes roam



when the mist hides

your reflection in windows

because know:

The Street Maiden 

and Her iron nails 

will hunt you. 

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