summer heat waves in the air
we sit, stalled in our journeys, on the cracking road
solitary in our metal worlds
we turn on the radio and watch the ants
melt on the pavement
hum a few bars
of Tchikovsky or Verdi
to add to the menagerie of music
to the honk, honk of the Italian man
in the lane next to me
who stares and licks his lips
and I
don’t feel so wrong
pale hands on
the black curve of the wheel
waiting impatiently
impatiently
looking childish,
as if we were playing grownup in mum’s car again
but now you lean
your head back
stretch your long, thirteen-year-old, legs out on the dashboard
because mum’s not around to know
reach for the volume dial
just so everyone around
can hear.
slowly inching
forward as we say a whispered prayer
that somewhere, past this sandy pavement
and patchwork of mismatched cars
there will be an end to this traffic jam
where we can do eighty again
and taste the air through the open windows
finally be where
we’ve waited for
and past the
end,
where this cocoon stops
I will step out of this car, this shield,
that keeps me half-asleep and still listening at the door
for a glimpse of something important, adult
set the ratty
sole of my sneaker down
and I will stretch, I will yawn
I will run my hands over my solar plexus
and suck in my stomach
like a woman does
like a woman does.