tagNon-Erotic PoetryOn a trip with my Father

On a trip with my Father

byWillow Rain©

Anxiety sits in the car
big and looming,
shoulders pressed to the roof.
He fills most of the back seat
squashed between my mother
and my daughter.

The ceiling light
is a halo behind his bowed head.
He travels with my Dad
like a wayward toddler,
demanding attention.
Space.

Making his presence known,
he fidgets as I drive.
He leans so far forward
his arms and shoulders invade my space.

Going through the city
my father frets.
His fingers jump
and twitch.

I feel anxiety swell
pressing hard to the ceiling.
Dad waits as long as he can
before insisting he drive.

We stop at a rest stop
and when we pile back
into the car
anxiety doesn’t show himself.

He’s not gone.
He’s in my Dad’s chest
Resting,
but only for the moment.

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