i'm counting cars.
the three foot high retaining wall is concrete and depending on the suns position in the sky,
the color is either beige, pink or gray.
the grass is sparse, crab grass, mostly dirt this lawn lot and exposed carob tree roots.
(those fucking monster trees follow me everywhere!)
the sun keeps setting and i keep looking up river as the street seems to dip at the corner and then flow upward to mountain in my childmind a million miles away.
i count headlights and cars
all wrong but numbered just the same, 103 and 111 because some are cyclops.
i count cars watching for the jeep or the worktruck, watching for that light of hope because i believe someone in the world does care about and love me but i have my doubts and since i've been thinking men's voices on radio stations are the voice of dad mom insists that it's not and made a phone call.
she says he's coming tonight and i'm going to spend the weekend with Dad and Brother down south another billion miles away. and i