Dread of Rebuttal

I don’t believe it was lost on the man
Who approached my daughter, that, other than
Some children, no one was around to see,
No grown-ups who might gainsay cogently
His stern claim, only those who were passive,
So that he might be determinative,
Peremptory, without opposition,
By an opportunistic volition.

If it was lost on him – how she trembled –
Then how much his decisions resembled
Cowardice, authenticated yet more
When I stood in front of his car and saw
His eyes fearful at my countenance, there,
Waylaying him suddenly from nowhere.