Phobia? Poem by Ayn Timmerman

I'm not sure if this is in my head, but-
today a man talked to me
in rehearsed tones;
legs as thin as the cigarette
hanging limp from lips that pout,
blue jeans cut-off shirt,
pocket square with the pack of afore mentioned cigs,
sandy hair
shifting blue eyes that noticed the close proximity
of other people,
eyes that took it all in,
assessed the situation,
poised in waiting,
it is all planned out;
ready to steal, ready to rape.

So lock the windows,
bar the doors-
keep the dog nearby!
tell someone where you are
because soon you'll be found
in a blue tarp deep in the woods
by a german shepard
trained to sniff out the scent of death,
and they will find wild warnings,
frantically written,
a license plate number even,

and you watch
as a red chevy pulls slowly away,
and today you are not in it.