My Christmas Vacationmature
My dad is a horrible driver.
He insists on going at least 70 mph,
even if the road is really curvy,
and wet,
and frozen,
and there are other vehicles in his way.
Each one he passes is a small victory
to him.
To me it is literally a pain in the ass,
and the lower spine,
where I wobble forward and back
as he guns it and then slows down,
and I jerk to the side
as he triumphantly reclaims his rightful lane.
He makes agitated comments about something I can't hear,
presumably the road,
or the rain,
or the other drivers,
to my mom,
who is clutching the handle on the roof
above her window,
and who mutters the appropriate response.
Four hours he's been driving so far,
and still that many to go.
But look on the bright side...
He turned off that unbearable Christmas music.
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading the poem
My Christmas Vacation, which
was posted on Jan 12, 2009 by
Rac7hel.
This is a collaborative poem.
Some rights reserved.
This poem is filed under:
Free Verse, Humour / Comic Verse, Narrative / Ballad
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