Windows
by K.J. Loughran
I was told as a child
That driving with the windows open
Slows you down.
It’s like a parachute tied to a race car.
When the sun is down,
Stoplights become monotone,
The brakes of a car in front of me mean nothing,
And the bright white signs are unseen to my eye.
My car rushes down the tarmac.
The wheel shakes in my hand,
Begging me to slow down.
My body moving with the turns
Yet my face betrays no emotion
And my lips stay sealed.
When the sun is down,
Driving becomes careless.
Cars are disposable.
Other drivers are obstacles,
And my body lacks value.
Despite all this,
I drive with my windows down.
Holding me back.
Slowing me down.
My lifeline,
Roaring in my ears.
While the wind blinds me with rushing hair,
And the freezing air paints my ears red,
Knuckles turning white,
A part of me reaches out
And halts me.
Pulling me back,
Slowly.
The windows can’t save me
There is no parachute
Yet the cold reminds me that I am scared of what will happen
And so I drive with my windows down