Molly Lamer Poet Prose Poetry

Passenger Seat

Anger-fueled words flare out of his mouth
like blue flames
I can feel the energy darken and turn cold
I sit silently
keeping my eyes locked downward,
absorbing every atom of hatred
that forms the sharp sounds being emitted.
I try not to show how uncomfortable I am
instead, I stare at the hypnotic, 
damaging radiation waves
bellowing invisibly from the light of my phone screen,
pretending not to be affected by the unnecessary 
vulgarities spouting from his ego.
in less than an instant,
 the vibes go from comfortably chill
to anxiously wishing I was anywhere 
but in this passenger seat.
every sentence carves a new scar 
into my already damaged soul
as my brain categorizes each word 
where it rightfully belongs.
I’m grateful for my oversized sunglasses 
that hide my wincing eyes—
until I catch him looking sideways at me.
I solemnly mutter something about it being rush hour,
trying to become as small as my body will let me be.
I hope it seems like I’m too engulfed
 in whatever stupid game I'm playing
to notice the short-fused flip-outs
 that now happen every single time 
we're in the car.

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