Hands on the Wheel

A poem

Parallel
park for me,
backing in
with a sharp turn.

Change
lanes for me,
checking the
blind spot so I don’t see.

Accelerate
then slow for me,
so I don’t think
the inevitable will happen.

Will you stop at the red lights?
Will you move at the green?

Can you follow the map—
the right turn on 3^rd,
the left on Oak,
the shiver up my spine,
the hand on my thigh?

4,000 pounds of
screaming metal
careening down
at high velocity
the freeway of the heart.

Hands free
I cruise control our
way into some
rom com that ends
in roommates

not lovers.

If this 4,000 pounds of
passion is going to
remain

on the drag strip
of our tire marked
life

I’m going to
need to be a
Luddite.

My hands on the wheel love;
we have miles yet to go.