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.