5-10 Third Wheel

A cart with three wheels,
still rolls,
sort of,
clutching my purse,
with my nervous wrinkled fingers,
the last of my lipstick,
blotched on in patches,
I close my eyes,
to the jarring dust,
crouching into the shadows,
a cart with three wheels...
my lips taste like chalk,
to my left,
spiders crawl out of the cracks,
and cross my legs.
I let them,
spin my veins into cobwebs,
and fragile dreams,
I am the perfection of still,
closing my eyes,
nieces, nephews,
gripping the edge of the bench,
my stomach lurches,
cramps,
miles left to go,
miles left to go,
the sleep never comes,
glass cracks,
slowly pinching my ears,
I ignore,
the sound of men yelling outside,
they want in,
they want in,
desperate,
the dust around my feet stirs,
settles,
holds me in place,
broken pinky to my right,
it left, a postcard,
creased with worry,
and dried ink,
a kleenex to wipe the grime,
and tar dripping from my eyes,
wish you were here,
love,
the spiders crawl into my mouth,
hatching their prayers upon my tongue,
time seems to whisper, for them,
I am still..
a cart with three wheels.