Rain glances off the glass until I think
It might just break. The only other sound’s
The screech of tires, the whir of engines hot.
I’ve turned the volume down until I am
Alone, and daring thoughts to think themselves.
The only thought there is is one like this:
The cars look like they’re made of shadow stuff-
Like blots of ink and sketchy, shiny stars.
Headlights diffracted, bodies in the dark.
Not much like cars at all. If I would turn
The wheel a little farther to the left
And let the car drift into traffic lights
We might just crumple, origami fold
Or we’d pass through, dark specters in the night.
Grady Trexler is a senior at Maggie L. Walker Governor’s School in Richmond, Virginia. He will graduate in 2019. In addition to writing, Grady likes to listen to music and debate.