Got to watch out
for the quiet ones.
Tweed smackin',
moral crunchin'.
Their knowing looks
could fill
a fucking book
on how to lie
with corny
lifestyle choices,
creepy
high-pitched
voices.
Judgement
drips down
their smarm,
"Don't worry darlin',
I'll do no harm."
Run,
girl,
run.
Run
from
the quiet ones.
