The passenger window was coaxed down
Creating a vacuum
From the outer orb of the car
    Whisping violently to the back seat.
I imagined this accumulated mass of air giving me directions
Just as my mother would.
          “Next left”
Turning my head back to the road
The stoplights were my own private assortment of fireworks, it being so late in the night
I was their sole admirer.  The sound that the wind now made reminded me of the
Shutter of an old camera, looped, repeated, into one single strand of noise.
I was being documented. Perhaps nature is just as fascinated with us as
We
Are
It.
Pulling up to the driveway, the car and I were eaten and digested.
Every living and inanimate thing around me was taking photos.
With their hands over their mouths, politely, like a secret crush.
Fame doesn’t bother blades of grass.