the dust has been washed
away in rivulets down the
windscreen of a car. Probably
from the 90's, probably a
Honda or Toyota - missing
half a fender, trunk held closed
with wire and duct tape.
inside, a woman waits out
the weather among the detritus
of decades; only the driver's
seat is not piled with wax
paper wrappers, empty cups,
things that used to contain.
Her cigarette droops nearly to
her chest, unlit. There is no
power in this car, the battery
died three nights before.
She contemplates a droplet,
staggering its way down
the window, changing direction
with abandon. She reaches for the
handle, rotates, and breathes in
the damp air.
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