1/14/12
The street cries quietly.
a girl in pinstriped shorts
slides her feet through oak leaves -
she bathes in the crumple and tear
a white truck sits on block,
its engine rusting, partially covered
by a tattered tarp. Its windows
all corner cobwebs and grime.
Cactus thrives, the thick prickly pear
trunks tower over foxtail and cigarette butts,
its wide paddles pockmarked and scarred;
each one a face, each one a name.
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