Draft 2: Waiting for Mom to Come Out of the Store

We lay out under the roof,
like some great camping trip.
She's been in there for hours,
or maybe only days.
Seems like forever,
but that is a trivial time phrase.
My brother took my menu
from the chinese restaurant
next to Kroger and folded
it into a paper airplane
that won't fly because the wing
is lopped off on the side.
My seat won't lean back like his does
so I stretch out on the 3 person sofa
lounging on retractable arm-rests.
I don't like looking at the red,
so I look at the sky.
On the radio, some half-drunk stripper
sings her record hit no doubt
still in her street walker garb.
She sings of peace and harmony,
love and nirvana.
When was the last time you saw
those elements in happy juncture
together, unless you were smoking pot
with the Buddhist monks in the picture
at the chinese restaurant.
Nothing makes sense when you smoke pot,
that's why you do it.
Just like me sitting in this big red van
in the Kroger parking lot with
paper menu airplanes flying
half-heartedly above my leaking head.