The ride on the way there began an hour before early.
Dad is busy with a bag of peanuts
steering one-handed most of the way
leaving nine free hands within the vehicle
swaying and weaving through hillcountry
grasping to overhead straps and our churning, breakfastless bellies.
The ride on the way back began an hour after late.
Dad is too drunk to drive
Mom has both hands on the wheel the entire time.
Two hands make a bridge across the back seat
from my brother to his fiancee on sides of me
making a nest for my head, gliding over dark highway
Hey there folks, my good buddy Dane and I made a creative writing blog! We’ll be posting poems, short stories, and other wordy good things. Follow for more things to come!
This poem is by myself, written fall 2013 for a creative writing workshop.