The dial turns
at the pace of the rubber,
putting in miles
while the hull shudders
wishing it could take a moment,
rest, gulp down gas.
But my foot's aching
to hit the plastic to the carpet,
"Come on baby, shmob it!"
like a commet.

Wind smacks onto slick glass,
flies past into the night
right by the burnt out
tail light.
Ashes pouring out the cracked
window
"Come on baby, go!"
Little kid dreams gleam
in the high beams,
wide-eyed and frantic.
"Don't pani-"
Crash.