long way home

 

The car, a murderous weapon

of innocent exploits, she thinks

 

how subtle

 

makes hard work of snow powder

compressed to plastered tracks

tempting frustration for someone’s

missed turn

 

and not so

 

drives reckless under influence

of the other passage right

known to a wartime mother’s

raging nightmare

 

in the neglected scribe’s dark night sitting

seasons long with little else but the blue light screen

and steady hum of an overburdened engine

she prays will last

until her primary task, the one

she might have finished first,

now last, completes

 

note: someone used the driveway for a turn around before I got to shoveling several inches of fluff and a marketing pitch for the bank noted that purchasing and driving a car is a 21st century child's right of passage, which I've recognized for decades yet not heard broadcast. the other right of the culture being alcohol consumption after cigarettes. addictions comparable perhaps to my social media and branding or facelifting screen time.