Other People's Mirrored Lives

I’ve pushed the seat back as far as the track will go

to make room for my legs and the way that I drive.

The mirrors are tilted, angled high and low,

watching the road to keep this sedan alive.

In the glove box, a child’s drawing of a blue tree

sits on a pile of napkins from a diner out west.

It’s a life I’m just visiting, a version of me

that’s borrowing space and putting it to the test.

The steering wheel is tacky under my palms,

and the air smells of detergent I’d never choose.

I’m moving through traffic with a stranger’s calms,

wondering if I have anything left to lose.