On Getting Out of the Car at Night

The tiny, baby hairs
On the back of my neck
Bristled in warning
Before and behind, I checked
For the being I felt
Staring with malicious intent
The darkness took form
Street noises went absent
Is this because of my new routine,
Or just the year I’ve had?
I sense danger in persona,
Threat in shadows-clad,
Is it in reality?
Some kind of spiritual stew?
Or just psychological drift illusion
Looking through trauma-residue
In fragmentary awareness
With an understanding
Of the new risk levels
I am handling.

But then,
Has there ever been anything right,
Or safe, or trustworthy
In the night?

Is safety even a real thing?