two little girls stare in my direction

smoke

heavy eye make-up

and

flared nostrils

cover the small face of this Pearl

still

a slightly potted belly

flat chest

and wet bangs (haphazardly matted on her forehead)

offer hope to this inverse Peter Pan

her friend, sister, or lonely neighbor

sit wet in dad’s old t-shirt

her breast seem broken

and so does she

this timeless life of summer

is not about

these babies

an outie belly button

an attitude

or a life in the backseat

but about her cigarette

that will soon be ash.