Scabs

She picks her scabs as she sits in the hot and sweaty backseat of her mother’s car
She knows that one day they may scar
Her mother tells her that almost every day
But she doesn’t really care
She has found a way to distract herself from the more important things
So she picks her scabs
She has many to choose from
It’s summer time after all
The mosquitoes bite her even when they don’t seem to bite anyone else
And she knows she more likely to get bitten
But type (O) blood doesn’t stop the bites from itching
She counts 21 bites on her left leg and 17 on her right
She’s glad that the numbers are odd
She likes odd numbers better than evens
She thinks that maybe she’s a little odd herself
But she’s trying not to think about the more important things
She returns to picking the scabs on her left leg
She’ll get to the right eventually
But she likes odds better than evens
And lefts better than rights