Our Car Rides
I sat silently,
both feet on the dash,
The windows let in a
hard breeze
and it tickled the tips
of my outstretched fingers.
The farmland seemed
to fly by us
as if we were the
unmoving ones.
No commitments.
Nowhere to run to.
Just a car ride
and a plastic bag
fluttering in the backseat,
inflated with excitement.
This poem is about:
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: