I touch the leaves
Press the flowers between my fingers
Circle the garden and look outside the gate
cars are passing.
I find a stone sitting carelessly near my feet and draw patterns in the sand that fills the flower pots
The flowers bend towards me with curiosity
I carelessly drop the prehistoric pen leaving the flowers to study their new decorations
I hear a car honking and I rush to peep over the garden wall
It pauses lightly and then turns away
I do too, and begin writing on the bricks with small pieces of a broken pot.
No one's coming home to see me today