I never was a fan
Of buckling in a van
And sitting
To mostly go
Where I never wanted.

I never found it a thrill
Scrunching my body
In every vehicle my grandparents leased
Every time my family and I would visit.
And, isn’t it ironic
How I’m the middle child of my family
And the middle seat in the back would always be available
Especially for me?

Traveling on a road
For more than an hour
Feels like a breeze after a time.
But somehow the shorter car rides
Seem to take forever,
The basic mile perceptually elongated.
Just my luck.

Everything I have done,
Every activity my parents rode me too
Required my AIS
And patience toward whichever parent
Navigated.

I almost begin to believe
That traffic roads have a treadmill mechanism
To illusion travel and make one believe
That the wheels spin forward,
But I think they lag atop the same gravel
Much too long for my patience and time.

As I crave for a hurry in life
When time slowly fumbles,
I wonder if I would get to where I want to be faster
If I took the wheel.