Latching

I sat in the driveway with the engine dead

and my thumb against the red and plastic square.

There’s a whole lot of nothing in my head

and a whole lot of stillness in the air.

I pushed the button and the metal tongue

popped out with a sharp and final sound.

It’s the same old heavy weight that I have hung

every time I put my feet back on the ground.

The polyester webbing is starting to fray

where it’s rubbed against my hip for three long years.

I’m safe inside the car for one more day,

locked in with all my quiet, stupid fears.