Hit by a wake
of rainwater
a morning bus makes
as it barrels through
every puddle. Hit

by a gray thought—
losers, only losers. Hit

by a Dumptruck
song she hasn’t heard
in years. The Haunt.
Hit by all the names
she never remembers,

she hits back. The sound
of vulcanized rubber
on wet pavement
becomes her
secret overture.

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