morning drive

April 1, 1997

i’m sitting in the backseat of a car
i’m a seven year old with a sly smile
the elders are in front
talking about me in the third person
i pretend, as always, to be marvelling
at the sites outside the car window
it’s off to the big building
to spend time with the misfits
the ones that are happy with nap time and recess
i struggle with thoughts
of how to pass the time
i am growing quite bored
with this daily ritual

i spin my head
towards the front of the car
as i hear my mom screaming
our car is skidding towards a red truck ahead
suddenly there is
no noise
no light
and no school

Posted in Poetry