The faded sticker peeling at the edge

The faded sticker, peeling at the edge,

a loyalty thin, like a worn-out pledge.

That car, your brother's, a beat-up thing,

with all the stale air that your habits bring.

His seat set back, for a longer arm,

the talk show drone, a dull, flat charm.

And that sweet smell, a sickening cloy,

from all the junk food you both enjoy.

My hands felt clean when I gave back the key.

Left all that air, that wasn't me.

Just a quick escape, a small, sour flight,

back to my own space, and the quiet night.