Vehicular

Vehicular

By April Hanna

When I was young, I wanted to be a
stop sign
when I grew up.

Because acceleration lanes meet truck tires
like hundred something thread count sheets meet a bed.
Something is telling me to go.
I didn’t put my seatbelt on.

Turned without signaling
Vehicle, flipped.

Speakerphone.

Miles have been put on my heart
gross frame,
Totaled.
Not to the heads of others
but to my own ache.

Putting a hand around a neck
is running a red light.
Mind and muscle
both have brakes.

I have grown not today fists
and you’ll be sorry roots
and a got it together grin
But phantom chokeholds
still gives me something to cry about,
only sometimes.

When I was young, I wanted to be a
stop sign
I was trying to say crossing guard.

 


April is a senior studying Communications and Writing at Ramapo College of New Jersey. She is an avid supporter of a well-placed Oxford comma and a good sarcastic remark. Instagram: @aprilplaysbass

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