Shotgun
When I was born, I stood on the shotgun seat.
Danger was a challenge best met naïve.
My dad told me, “Sit down or you’ll get hurt.”
as if you could sit and still see the world.
When I was five, I stood on the shotgun seat,
stepping on soil strange to my feet.
The sun too was unfamiliar, and the moon,
The childhood question: what made them move?
When I was nine, I sat in the shotgun seat,
contemplating my greatest feat.
I was going to be an astronaut, an engineer,
immune to the whispers of fear.
When I was sixteen, I sat in the driver’s seat,
and earned my moment of invincibility.
It was gravity, an unseen will
that cradled the sun and moon still.
When it was now, I stood on the driver’s seat,
tall and unyielding, a soaring oak tree,
the birds and bees under the shade of my leaves,
my ambitions, my goals, my wishes and dreams.
On the cusp separating where I am and where I will be,
The light overhead changes from red to green.
Destiny is not my guide, but my own ability
to take the Wheel and drive before doubt finds me
because obstacles crowd every inch of the street.
After all, Life was never meant to be easy
and the burden of dreaming was always heavy.
But you and I? We’re just energy
and we can change manifestations as we please.
Let’s sit on a star
or split the sea,
so we
can finally
leave the shotgun seat,
drive free,
and see this world for what it can be.