1610

In the backseat of the beat-up Echo
She puts down her brandy and hatbox
And she says, “Hunger is for the weak.
I’m not saying I’m a camel or anything.”
In the front, the two silent men stare
But don’t register any complaint
When she accidentally kicks the seat
In front of her, as well as the other.
The road stretches forward into the trees
Without a thought for the skin of knees.