Suburban style van, with its stained coffee cup and sheaned sheets. The ceiling that sags and the mail tucked into the windshield, with the dent on the right of the bumper. The keys in the ignition, the fire has started. Will you drive?

Jessie’s nights have been difficult for as long as she can remember.

white road lines merging under

our worn out tires,

taking us away

the radio vibrates with

noise over the homeless 

man on the curb,

boombox over stereo

used to be versions of me

over what we’re left with

This wouldn’t work. We both knew it, but it was still so easy to get attached. Even though we hardly had any time at all. We used every second we had, milked it for all it was worth.

Pay attention to the road.

The soft mantra fills my head as the dark pouring rain pelts the windshield. The wipers beat relentlessly, expelling as much water as they can while more continues to fall.

Pay attention to the road.