Asphalt

You shout like air
and my ears are full of it.
Soundless. Buffeting.

I am seven years old
and clenching my hands
and my eyes in the street.

Listening for cars
and counting backwards
from ten, nine, eight, seven

They avoid me
every time sometimes
sometimes swerving
close enough I can feel
their big metal bodies
from six, five, four, three
brush by

their tires crunch
on the side of the road

but it quiets you
and I never get to one.

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