On the road, a role reversal:
for once, I lead. In the passenger seat,
your life is in my hands,
or below my feet, with the pedals.
Right now, you can't tell me
what to do. Right now, the traffic lights
are my only God. And even so,
I choose when to obey.
Taking a left onto the rain-slicked highway,
I hear you speaking, but I
can't make out the words over the
jangle of a bass line, rattling the speakers.
You are a picture perfect slice of
misery, seeking any mode of control.
You summon the storm to come
harder, until I can't see the road
ahead. It could pour like this for days,
if the rain is a metaphor for your regret.
In the breakdown lane,
with the deluge still coming,
you say, "roll down the windows,
I feel like drowning."
just don't touch my goddamn radio.