Car Watching
Standing curbside on the border of 422
Behind me the outpost of Turkey Hill
I watch like a sentry as the cars drive by
I peer inside, curious, intrigued
Where are these people heading?
Where is their destination?
Where worries do they have?
Is their gas tank low?
What is their back story?
Or like Flynn Rider do they not tell?
Could one female driver be my soul mate?
I contemplate as my gallon of sweet tea grows heavy
They ride by as Indian raiding parties
Seeing all, remembering only what’s important
The orange hand forbids my passage
The white man appears
I walk as all the cars watch me
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