Child of the Short Spark

I see your slow swirl
In number 18
Swirling up the telephone pole.
I see you climb the metal bars
With your outstretched arms
As you cry, “god
Give me red!
Strike me down and let me blink once.”
So you blink once in the dead night,
So you can be seen in every car
By a little boy or girl whose face is
Squished against a car window
While driving down Alligator Ally.
The blink was once, but it shot out for a mile,
Until in 5 seconds, it blinks again
And I realize this is a tale of two women,
Three women, four
A row of women holding hands
And sending out signals
And giving birth
Holding up the sky,
The weight of the world on their shoulders
Making me feel so insignificant
A tired little boy
Counting through windows.