Hitchhike Hood
by Milla van der Have She wants to be gone. I can see her take stock by the side of the road counting trash like flowers: bones of course, but also little specks of plastic that seem to serve no purpose; cigarette butts, trampled catch-weeds and brown skulking leaves, shed like youth; a collar, she weighs on her hand as if wanted, thinks for a minute, (and I tremble, shy away into the undergrowth) then puts it in her jacket. In a moment, she'll straighten, raise her hand, be out of here. |
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