Road Trip

by Hollie Wise

Tight-packed.

A capsule speeding

down miles of interstate,

Checking off time zones

like items on a grocery list:

Eastern, Central, Mountain, Pacific,

Swallowing dashed yellow lines as ohio melts into

indiana into

illinois into

iowa.

Driving

in one direction.

Pausing

only for gas, bologna sandwiches,

bathrooms, and sleep.

Thinking as far ahead

as the next Super 8.

Everyone naps as the car streams forward.

My mother has her feet on the dashboard,

her seat tipped back touching my knees.

My father switches the stations.

Even during static, his fingers drum the wheel.

There’s a curled-up lump of a sister in the back,

wedged between suitcases, jackets, pillows, and food.

Everything I love in one car.

Tight-packed,

so dangerous,

so safe.

Playground Kids by Angela Woolley

Urban Canvas by Robert McPhie