The Steering Wheel

In cars drivers 
clothed for mistakes
they made years before
grip steering wheels
they barely need as
the cars work
those same routes
every workday.

After years of 
dressing and driving
like this, they 
know in their 
bones that to imagine
different roads
would tear them
to shreds.

They clench
the steering wheels,
their teeth; they clench
their buttocks
as their cars go 
where they always go.

There by the roadside,
a steering wheel.
The sound of 
someone screaming,
or cheering.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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