Hitchhiker

I am counting cars the same way
I count fishes in my sea.
But it is murky like suffocating drains
choking words I can't take back
a lonely side puddle on the road.

I don't look at the metal bodies
but the warm breathing ones
from rolled-down windows, carefree lollipop wrappers
bobbing mainstream music.

I count the drivers and passengers smiles
and theirs is more than the ones you give me.
I understand.
I guess your car and try to find it anyway.

Is it ferrari red?
Like a horse with electric hooves
thundering my loose earth
with ridge muscles
fearless mane hair?

Is it a monster truck?
Like an armoured hunchback
distrusting eyes
banged up front-gate grin?

I'm beginning to think whatever it is
it's black.
As your leather jacket that collects nightmare sweat
old tears
hands too young to belong to
Parkinson.
As your pencilled past that
colours both our lives.

Baby, I have washed-up nickels.
I'll take the bus.