Sometimes I catch myself doing it,
driving with my wrist, my left
hand tilted hard
over the steering wheel.
This was how I learned to cruise
and look cool, how
my best friend Ricky
drove my mother’s white firebird
crazy. I emulated him
when I was alone

(when we were together,
he always grabbed the key).
I would tailgate the schoolbus,
the boys in the back
drooling over my
mixtape freedom,
windows down, too fast,
too many girls wanting rides,
their charms lost on me.

© Bryan Borland