Like a slave encased,
she longs out the freshly streaked window
begging verity, wanting it palpable
like sandpaper rubbing her sweaty hand.

Waiting past streetlamps burning
through darkness staid like a leather jacket
on a dark boy standing still.

Sidestepping moving and parked cars; people emerge
then drown. She clutches what is plain,
plain as that tree bristling under
her gaze; plain as the gum wrapper
buried half in dirt, tucked beneath the white curb;
plain as the rusty hubcaps pressed hard against
the red car; plain as the wires
crisscrossing the pale blue

sky she settles past
what she can easily touch
and frets
for all she imagines instead.

What Are You Thinking Right Now?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s