The boys in the street mend their cars.
A miniature garage, it seems.
I feel like crying, I feel so alone,
No-one to mourn me when I am gone.
No-one to miss me, no-one to care.
I pound at the walls, but no-one is there.
And if they are there, then no-one hears.
And if they hear, then no-one cares.
No-one to care, no-one to cry,
If I live, If I die.

The boys in the street are at it agai...

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While waiting for the bus to school,
I came upon the weighty problem
Of what to do with my hands and feet.

Unused to such quandries and puzzles,
I first thought the answer to be
Simple, like hands in pockets, and stand on feet.

But unbidden, there came to my mind
A picture of myself, standing on my feet.
A plump girl, with her hands in her pockets.

At last I could stand it no longer
...

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