6

Another short one. It started as a very different type of poem, but the first three lines set up a rhythm that I couldn't resist.

6
As I stepped down
From off the bus
He offered me his hand.
No, no, I said,
You have it wrong,
You just don’t understand.
I’m not yet old,
I’m still so young,
Perhaps, let me help you.
You don’t need help?
Well, nor do I!
I’m Virile! (Stubborn too).