On my way home
from a wedding
the road was playing
tricks on me.
I couldn't tell if I was going
u
p
  h
   i
    l
     l
or just p l a t e a u i n g,
never really going
anywhere of any
particular importance.
It was so dark.
Miles from streetlights
and greenlights and any other kind
of lights, I turned my shoulder
to yield, but there was no
sign of another car
to make me slow down.
I rolled the windows
down and sang a song
to you at the top of my
lungs because I hate
the way I feel when you
grab my hand in your
passenger seat and
my stomach free-falls
because of your touch
and the fact that you
won't be my boyfriend.
It's a junior high title,
but humor me,
I didn't get enough
love in my childhood.