"What? What is that? What's it doing?"
"I-- I don't know! Stop boy, stop!"

I've stopped.

"What was it doing?"
"He-- he was--"

I was hanging this cloth-- this cloth--
Just over the window, there.

"What? The window? Why?"
"Oh! He wanted shade-- for shade!"

Because here where I sit-- just here--
I sit in the sun.
And though at times the car does turn,
At those times so the sun seems to turn,
Leaving you both in the shade so
You don't see.

"Oh! I thought it broke something.
I heard a noise;
I thought that noise. . .
What was that noise?"
"The boy, he put it out too far--"

I was trying to hold it up,
Just and inch or so sticking through,
While I rolled up the window.
But the wind pulled it out a little.
Then in the wind it was flapped against the car.
I was about to pull it back in a bit and then
You yelled at me.

"It shouldn't have had it out so far!"
"You had it out too far."

I know.
I was about to pull it in when
You yelled at me.

"It's alright.
It may have shade."
"You may put it up for shade."

Then the shade is not for me.
I prefer the sunlight now.
I want to sweat,
And pretend
That you didn't yell at me.
I want to sit in misery--
To sit and think of quiet.
If I were in comfort now
My shaded thoughts would think
In shouts.