There

Like a slave encased, importunately she longs out the freshly streaked window begging verity, wanting it palpable like sandpaper rubbing her sweaty hand. Waiting past streetlamps burning through darkness staid like a leather jacket on a dark boy standing still. Sidestepping moving and parked cars; people emerge then drown. She clutches what is plain, plain as that tree bristling under her gaze; plain as the gum wrapper buried half in dirt, tucked beneath the white curb; plain as the rusty hubcaps pressed hard against the red car; plain as the wires crisscrossing the pale blue sky she settles past what she can easily touch and frets for all she imagines instead.