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Summer's End

I’m laying on a sidewalk
screaming at the sky
which is full of dusty gray clouds and won’t ever hear me: “Car wash! Car wash!”
and I don’t honestly hear myself.
My best friend stands
holding her sign which advertises
the same thing that I
refuse to stop yelling, and
my elbow keeps connecting with the pavement
but it would be more uncomfortable
to actually sit up.
I do not think to
because the dusty gray clouds are not
spitting at me
and no one is calling me over the
bright red piece of wire and metal and plastic
in my pocket which I have decided
is more a bother than a piece of technology,
and as I watch the people coming and going in their cars,
not caring about the dusty gray clouds,
never seeing us,
in such a rush that they don’t see anything
at all,
I wonder if they ever will notice
things like the girl from the swim team
by the side of the road
screaming at the sky
which will never hear her: “Car wash! Car wash!”




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