I never noticed how few cars drive by parks at night.
The siren's yell simply passing by, forgetting you.
Doors shutting and cats fighting and that siren still just passing you by.
It takes you back to when you were thirteen staring out a third story window, without any idea that this would be the present, and that would be the past, and this moment would be remembered by a lonely nineteen year old girl sitting Indian style on a cement block, with nothing but the third quarter to keep her company,
as she stretches her limbs,
as she stretches her mind,
as she stretches her hopes just a little bit further.
It's when you're staring out that window that you realize: men they don't come the way they tell you in movies. And women, they don't work the way they do in books. Families follow the maze Lucifer and God created at dinner and the most you can hope for are some hedge animals to trap those families in, in their misery and reckless sorrow.
That driveway is looking pretty fine now, darling. That pavement is looking pretty tempting now, sweetheart.
The sirens are far gone, but the park is still here and the view of it all from a third story window is what leaves the curtains swaying with the mysterious air of a forgotten body.
