Am I in Trouble?

She bends,
knobby knees splayed,
to pull Tinker Bell boots
from a locker
twice her size.
The school halls spread,
cavernous, and
pigtails with pink ties graze
soft young cheeks
that tilt up toward a teacher's voice.
“What are you doing
in here
by yourself?”
the old man asks,
and her hummingbird heart
flutters, Am I
in trouble?
“They said I
need my boots to
go out
on the playground.”
He shuffles up behind her,
beer gut pushing
into her back,
and his fat pale hands creep
over her shoulders,
down her flat chest and stop
to cradle her unripe privates.
His hot breath
moistens her ear
as he bends
to whisper
threatening gibberish.
She stands, blank-faced,
as he walks away,
and her hummingbird heart
trips