Ode to a Carpooling Mom

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Gas pedal, brake pedal

gas pedal, brake pedal

indiscriminate rattling metal

rattle

metal

No time for a mechanic

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

No time for panic.

Don’t. Panic.

Just keep driving

driving and praying

driving and saying

Just Get Me There.

Up the driveway

down the driveway

maybe the highway

maybe the service way

Pick up this one

drop off that one

Wait. What?

I forgot one?

Stop. Reverse.

Back it up

turn around.

Third or fourth

trip through the town

Gas pedal

brake pedal

rattle

metal

Full tank

empty tank

teens in the car

volume cranked

Headache earache

backache

butt-ache

Please don’t make…

… don’t make me drive again.

Dinner in the front seat

snacks in the back seat

crumbs in my lap

forever wedged in the driver’s seat.

No heat

seat heat

short circuit

burning my left butt cheek

Six empty water bottles

that no one claims

fifty-three cents

in loose change

Sand in the summer time

Sand in the winter time

Sand. Sand. Sand.

All. The. Damn. Time.

 

Here’s to all the moms who spend more time sitting in their car than sitting….well, practically anywhere else.

2 thoughts on “Ode to a Carpooling Mom

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