Mammoth hands rest casually on the wheel, steering our half-blind course
Droopy, lidded eyes in denial, growled “I’m good”s punctuate his silence
Biting my “Are we there yet?” tongue nigh on five hours, swirling worries abide
Rehearsal for the next four years… or five or ten of our co-signed life.
When can I quit this trip and finally rest and cheer from the sidelines?