Passenger, I am –
delegated to back seat –
input seldom asked for,
even less appreciated.
I ride along.
Passenger, I am –
at best can only speculate
about direction – limited
sight lines here in the back.
I am not driving.
Had a driver once,
motivated and self-assured –
could sit back and relax –
until his mistress climbed in.
Who invited her?
Driver #2 is handsome,
but lacks directions, so
no one is paying attention.
Others ride along too.
There’s a high school dropout,
who likes to pick his parents pockets,
and get boozed up on Friday nights.
How did he get here?
Ride along, if you wish, but be warned –
this vehicle is outdated, and likely unsafe –
we’ll just have to squish together.
They don’t make ‘em like this anymore.
Oh yeah, my crazy sister is aboard too,
Or maybe it is me, ‘cause I swear
I saw the ghost of another –
bent on haunting me along the way.
Probably a good thing I’m not driving.
Night is falling, and we stop for gas,
and the neon lights remind me –
if I’ m going to make a break,
it’d best be now.
Or, I could find a new driver.
What I put God at the wheel?
What if I said: God, give me direction?
Would I have to sit up straighter and pay attention?
Would the adulteress and the sloth have to leave?
Would my vehicle become a golden chariot,
powered by horses with wings of white?
And would we fly above the obstacles,
straight to the Promised Land?
Fantasy, unfortunately –
for now, I’ll remain back here,
until life restores vitality,
and my head is clear again.
Then I’ll park this old vehicle.
And get a new model with GPS.
(I’m revisiting old posts, editing, and re-introducing some of them. Ride Along With Me was written in November of 2014, six months after being bedridden with ME. It was inspired by a dream, and understandably, represents a woman who has lost everything, trying to make sense of life. I thought it is actually quite fun, and may have a wider application, so I resubmit it here.)