a small vehicle, a body

It is a small vehicle, a body
Inside there is a brief quivering mess
of skin and spit,
aspirations waiting in the backseat

Sometimes, the red light waiting gnaws at me
I floor it, crash
And hurt people

Which is to say: it’s only life
Turn around when possible
Keep driving

Sometimes I yellow-light dare death
Itching to reach the destination (you)
2.5 minutes faster

In my haste I take the wrong speed bumps
And drive too fast over turns
Collision chorus in my ears,
My nervous fingers tell me to
Take the first exit

When you rode shotgun, I was happy
to go gently through city streets
Bear right
Towards the bridge over the sea

The smaller you get in the rearview mirror
The louder it gets in my head
Proceed to the route
Proceed to the route
Proceed to the route

Amanda Joshua has writing published or forthcoming in Starling, Sweet Mammalian, Kate Magazine and Poetry NZ. In her spare time, she likes to read and contemplate dropping her law degree.