Poetry by Dythandra

Unsafe at Any Speed

I
After the second "practice", visibly shaking
My mater called the driving school.
I was getting Mrs. Archibald--one of the good ones.
Good=unflappable.

She was, as I expected, formidable.
A cold glare assessed me--dismissed me
But she was paid to fulfill their promise:
"Creating safe drivers since 1992".

How exactly do you... create them?
An unfriendly eye regarded me; disregarded me.
"Keep your eyes on the road".
I pulled out the ones I stole from biology class
And tossed them out the window.

She started to say something, then,
Thinking better of it, shook her head
And scribbled some notes on her clipboard.

We parted--Will you be my instructor next week?She snorted, then walked away.

II
Two instructors and 17 lessons later,
They deemed me done.
Roy, the one who "survived" scribbled out a certificate.
"Show them this--it might help."
But Roy--you still haven't answered my question
Do you "create" them in test tubes,
Or the... old fashioned way?
He never answered.

III
Waiting at the DMV for my road test.
I know how to read people--there are three
Who can grant me the freedom of the streets.

The first--I know her kind.
All business. Everyone should fail the first time
I slip one place back in line.

The second--buzz cut bodybuilder.
Should be a football coach.
My fashion sense will sink me
Before we leave the parking lot.

Third time lucky--I slip one more place in line.
He's younger, awkward--
His voice cracks,
As I stare directly into his eyes.

He stammers directions as we leave the parking lot
Too overwhelmed to ask me to turn down the music
Meatloaf is way before my time
But "Paradise by the Dashboard Light" is still a classic
And torture for a 28 year old still trying
To complete his adolescence.

Nonchalance is my specialty,
And I sing along with the words and sounds
That flush his pockmarked skin crimson.

He seems not to notice when I miss the shoulder check
He comments not on my rolling stop,
My parallel park--5 minutes to perfect
Earns no critique.

We roll to a stop, back at the DMV.
So--how was I? He quickly hands me the affirmation
Of my driving expertise.
Dampened by his anxiety-moistened hand.

My first trip--the discount used lot
I have to hurry--
The hearse won't last long.