In the Drive-Thru
One afternoon in April,
behind the wheel of my beat-up and broken car,
sweating a little,
my best friend in the passenger seat,
two large Styrofoam cups between us,
ice and juice and hopefulness:
and I cried and cried
and considered banging my head
against the steering wheel,
the windshield, the dashboard
(for dramatic effect),
all the hot plastic dusty with rage.
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