Sitting in my father's car.
No one as said a word.
All you do is look the other way.
And I am just looking at you.
No feelings
No words

I thought vulnerability was for the weak.
Even when I let you inside my thoughts
I've had both hands on your steering wheel.
I swerve hard left turns on the difficult memories,
dodging the on coming traffic of blatant truths.
My minds is a pile up on intestate 98
but I have you on the detour route
to Mr. Nice Guy lane on the road of "life is okay".
The next stop is "I am happy" street on the corner
of "you will be all right" avenue and "I don't care" lane.
But these fabricated roads are painted over signs
that trick you into believing that I am truly "fine".
But all the cars have crashed and burned
and now you know the truth.

A mother
Two sons
A reckless drive

Deadly injuries
Tried staying alive
Faces of tears
As he disappears

Leaving them broken
Along with hopeless
Everyday the notice
That their son was motionless

Headlights, LED's, burning bright
Into my retinas, reflected in rear view
And side mirrors, a radiator grill just
Visible, almost the outline of a person
Behind the wheel, androgynous ghost,
Mad Max or just mad, determined
To drive to wherever, faster than
Anyone else, cocooned in black leather
Heads up display laid out across sweeping
Digital dashboard, vying to pass me;
But what of the queue plainly ahead
Stretching to far horizon, vanishing point,

Perhaps it is supernatural, absorbing traffic
Clearing the way by passing through it,
An alien craft with technology far
Advanced from our slow turning wheels
Selfishly driving alone in our home from
Home interiors, gathering subjects
For an out of this world experience
Or maybe a time machine
Like Back to the Future powered by flux
Capacitor, it will disappear and turn up
Ahead of all of us, or maybe my imagination
Has run riot and it's just another impatient
Idiot.