i’m in the backseat,
propping my tiny bare feet
on the window of daddy’s Pontiac.
i watch as the clouds
and telephone poles outside
create flickering patterns
of light and shadows inside the car
as we hurtle down the highway.

my stomach churns
from the smell of wet dog
and stale cigarettes.
daddy’s loud percussive shouting
and the motion of the wheels
on the pavement
drive my unease deeper.

i feel sick.
i can’t wait to be home,
where i can sit alone outside
in the silent, still, and immaculate air–
breathing–
and pulling dandelions apart
while clearing my lungs
with the peppery wild roses
that flourish in our back yard.

but for now, i can’t control the car.
i can’t even keep it filled with sunlight.
i can’t keep daddy from hollering
or mommy from accidentally
scalding my bare legs with coffee.

i’m just along for the ride
while daddy drives.