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today as i was driving
to pick my brother up from wrestling
show tunes blasted unhealthily
from my honda’s speakers.
i sang and rapped
horribly, loudly, embarrassingly
to lyrics about a founding father
cheating on his wife and
endorsing the presidential campaign
of his political nemesis.
stopped at a red light,
i accidentally made eye contact
with the balding middle aged man
in the pick up truck next to me.
i know i was making an ugly face,
eyes squinted, mouth wide.
if only he could hear me;
it would be even uglier.
“i sound horrible,” i think to myself.
but i crank the volume,
and belt along with the black angelica schuyler,
longing for a lover we can’t have.
my brother enters the car,
and invites in cold air,
dampening my vocals.
now i only mouth the words occasionally,
my car feeling empty and cold
without my typical off-tune performance.
"surface pressure" from "encanto" plays,
and i wonder if he knows
that i’m relating to the colombian cartoon sister.
“why do you listen to this disney crap?”
he says pointedly as we pass kroger.
i am unsurprised
and i do not answer.
as greased lightning plays,
i speed up to 4 miles over the speed limit
in solidarity with john travolta
and his real p*ssy wagon.
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that's hella good poetry!!!
Replyso beautifully written
Replyamazing!
Reply