An Interlude in the Four Wheeled Prison

Some cities are famous for it.

How terrible, small, and impotent they make you feel

Whenever you have to get somewhere more

Than a few blocks away.

It is an old comedy trope,

The rage filled man,

Imprisoned in their fancy car,

Yelling at everyone, no one, God,

For some miracle that will remove thousands

Of others just like him

From the damning road.

Perhaps it's my circumstances that are different:

I'm finally free once I get behind the wheel.

Traffic or not,

Twenty minutes or several hours,

I am free from so many other dreadful things.

Let me be fair,

I love my child,

But I am hard pressed to play their games

At their level

For hours on end.

Once they are in the car, they too are pacified.

We can talk,

Listen to music,

Or simply enjoy the scenery.

I am free also from my responsibilities.

At least temporarily.

I can leave the bills at home,

The schedule has to wait until we arrive,

Not a good time for phone calls or emails.

I can breathe for a little while.

Sometimes, I can even listen to the music

I want to hear.

There is a thrill,

In finally having a modicum of control

Over something.

Left, right,

Fast, slow,

Safe, dangerous.

I know it's all just another fiction,

But for now it still functions as a balm.

It's not for everyone. I can understand

How it could be stressful.

I certainly hope

I never lose this place of comfortable escape,

Temporary as it might be.