Say So

In the center lane,
the one cars use
to go straight through
instead of turning 
left or right,

the driver
of a dark blue Nissan
is smiling, car dancing
to what from here sounds like
Doja Cat while her child
wiggles in the passenger seat
more or less in time with the song
and their mother’s glee.

It hurts more than a little
when I turn left
away from these 
happy two and go back
to my empty home

where no one’s
waiting for me
(right now anyway)
and where the music
I play in the empty house
doesn’t make me dance 
(I miss her too much for that)
and it’s not going to change
(not soon enough anyway)
whether or not I say so.