Backseat Blur

Crammed in the back, behind the chattering heads.

Miles and miles.

The hum of the tires,

their easy talk,

like I was just

extra weight.

I watched the trees, the signs,

blur into nothing.

Pressed my face to the glass,

felt the cold.

They never turned around.

Never asked.

Just kept going,

on and on.

Me, a quiet witness

to their loud.

The road unspooling,

taking me

somewhere I didn't care to go.

Still don't.