Our Childhood

Because of the absence of empty parking spaces
you yanked out the keys and threw them into your lap.

We were wading in the quiet, like an island
in the open sea, water slapping the skin of our necks.

I remember this story as if it were being told
to me, again, a tiny display projected

onto the side mirror. The neon lights behind us
splintered, deceiving in the manner it stroked

the sides of the Honda and touched
the darkness in the car. A sudden wave --

Subdued, the whipping of gravel on the tire of a passing car.
Above the dashboard, the bobblehead shivered

when we locked the doors at the sound
of the howling wind. The quaking before a collapse

is as subtle as the stir of a machine coming to life.
A projector playing a silent movie

in reverse. Our car changing lanes. A long look
into the mirror, to see if it has caught up to us.

 

( author's note )