Targeted

Police were called three times between midnight and 1:33 a.m. Saturday as students entered the dorm, unable to stand or walk and with color-coded X’s on their hands from the same party

 

Marked at the gate with a red or black X. Unlike outside red means go.

Do what thou wilt. Forget the law.

She walked in with a target on her hand, red to tell the bartender

her drinks get mixed out of sight.

 

Red so everyone who needed to know could see. Red so some bull

shit with a god-complex could keep her in his horns,

Keep an eye on her until she started slipping,

needed a helping hand and he’d rush over, “You alright?”

 

She’s getting hazy like the vodka shots she almost thought to question.

His face is featureless safety. “Don’t worry, you’re VIP. I’ll get you to bed.”

Did he bump fists as he led her from the dance floor? He smiles and

slips his hand further down. “I’m glad you made it out tonight.”

 

Red like the ambulance flash she sees next. Red like blood

on a sheet she must have imagined. Red like hearts he used to draw

for girls that always trapped him in the friend zone. Red like a

slap to the face, like when you realize you might

 

not be alright again. When you can’t remember him

though he seemed so nice. When questions crush

like rockslides and you know you’ll never know.

When you try to be polite

 

but deep inside you’re seeing red.

Scared but not too much to stand and fight.

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