Lily Rohm Poet Free verse

The Driver’s Seat

I am in the passenger seat. 
He is driving. 
One hand gripping my thigh, 
the other,
the wheel. 
The radio is off. 
The silence settles between us. 
I cannot speak-
for fear of his grip tightening. 
The road curves. 
I grip the handle,
silently wondering if he will curve with it. 
He does. 
As my breathing slows,
he laughs. 
You don’t even know where we are,
do you? 
You haven’t kept your eyes on the road,
though my eyes have been locked on the windshield since we left. 
I do not answer,
for fear of his grip tightening. 
I nod,
for I will never grow big enough,
to sit in the drivers seat.

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