ARE WE THERE YET?
10:23 am, 7/26/19
Hopscotch chopsticks stuck in my hair
All I wanna know is
Do you really care?
Baby in the backseat
Honda in reverse
Windows down tell me
It’s time for some
Jesus, Take the Wheel
Or
At least some
Road Rage Through the Pines.
Are you familiar with that
Oldies tune?
Move slow, move fast,
Red light
Green light
Yellow light nights
Was I in a car seat?
Sometimes the unfortunate equivalent to
Designated Driver.
Tip-toe
Hush-hush,
Stuck between
Are We There Yets and
DUIs.
His kayak flipped.
Class 9 rapids.
No calls home.
O, Brother
Where Art Thou?
And when do you think
You might
Give us a pulse to
Pencil it in.
No rush.
No worries.
Just prayers.
Though I’m getting pretty tired of
Lighting a candle
And calling it a
Day.
O, God, Almighty Father,
Maker of
Heaven and
Earth
Lord of the Most High
Jesus Christ
Take the Wheel.
No seriously.
Take it.
You can have it.
I don’t want it.
Take this fucking wheel
And spread that
Cruise control
On THICK.
So the mosquitos won’t know what
Hit em.
They say your rising sign is the car you drive,
Like make and model,
Body and voice,
But your moon sign is the little guy with the hands
On the inside.
Well shoo,
Boo.
Who is driving my car?
Who is driving my car?
No really.
Who is she?
Way back when,
Sun used to be my girl,
But now the moon and I
We got somethin’ goin’ on,
Ya feel?
His kayak flipped.
Class 9 rapids.
No calls home.
Maybe he couldn’t get to a
Payphone
Because unfortunately-like
He was
Head under a rock,
Body plastic prisoner,
4 minutes upside down
River rat or
Flower child,
All the same,
He heard a watery whisper.
Merrily,
Merrily,
Merrily,
Merrily,
Life is but a
Close-Call.
Maybe if we all stuck our head
Under a faucet
We would hear God’s voice
Too.
We pulled up on the gravel, and the chihuahua barked as if to say, “you are not welcome here.” My mom got out of the car and unbuckled me. I could smell the sweat on her neck as the dangling Jerusalem cross brushed my eyelash with the click of the seatbelt. That yummy B.O. that leaks fear, not water-weight. Probably more to keep our cool than to keep us cool. Which is an important balance for a June mama. She grabbed the Irish Soda Bread from the backseat. Still in foil. Still warm. Still her best excuse to drive 3 hours to Chattooga, Georgia. Better to deliver hot bread in the summer than swing by to see if your son is alive or dead.
Just in the neighborhood.
Thought I’d stop by.