ManicDDaily

Prompt – That First Vehicle That Gave You Freedom

Sometimes I feel like I never really got away ever.
Someone else has steered the wheel
the whole damn time and I don’t mean
God.
Even though I know the rules
of the road, passed
my drivers’ test.
Even though they–the great big capitalized
They–issued me some kind
of license.

Sometimes, the driver’s a nice person,
if only she wouldn’t constantly look out the window
and yammer,
but sometimes she’s mean as hell, riding
people’s bumpers, scooting by
on the wrong frigging side– then–
just when they get back to their toodle,
slamming (bam) the brakes
with a vagrant squeal
that sounds almost like road kill,
but the one she’s got her gimlet on
sits just there–you know–
in the frozen squash of the vinyl,
not knowing how
to ditch that ride,
hitch another, way too afraid
to open the door even if
she would slow.

But then, sometimes
of a sudden, long and lost,
the car will wander into the desert,
its chrome burnished orange
by buttes that store sunset,
or it will glide by the side
of a sea held level in its glass,
or it will simply lose itself
in the long pitch of horizon
and that bitch of a driver will go
completely away
and yet the car–the car–
will stick right to the road,
moving on.

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A poem of sorts (yes, a draft poem) for Herotomost’s prompt on With Real Toads  – “Road Trip,” to write about the first real vehicle that gave you freedom.  (This has been slightly edited since first posting and first comments.)