Cargo

The vinyl was cold and it smelled like a dog,

and my knees were pushed up to my chin in the dark.

We drove through the rain and a thick, coastal fog,

searching the night for a place we could park.

The streetlights came through in a rhythmic strobe,

lighting the crumbs in the cracks of the seat.

I was a small, quiet part of a globe

that moved on the hum of the tires and the heat.