It’s not that
I don’t trust the driver.

I’m just waiting
for my brain
to realize

we’re not going to die.

Clenching my fists.
Pressing my feet
into the floor.

My back almost pushes
through the seat,
as if I could eject myself
the way they do
in action movies
during high-speed
car chases.

I hold my breath,
pretending
I’m not scared.

They don’t know
my car did a backflip
ten years ago.