POEM - Car Trip

Two sets of droopy eyes

            Hover over open, whining mouths

Droning on in an endless chant

A constant question

From weary young passengers

Pertaining to our position

            And relative proximity

Of this vehicle

To the desired destination

At this age there is no concept

            Of time . . .

            Of distance

Only the moment

            And how they feel

And how at this instance

Their boredom is reaching

            What seems to them

Levels of intolerability

            Never before endured

By any other child.

There have been a few too many stories

Told by dad of his youth

A few too many family sing-a-longs

            Of key and full of fake pep

Way, way too many games of Alphabet

Now each brush or wisp of presence

From either sibling

Becomes a declaration of war

And two droopy eyed parents

            Are waiting and hoping for the day

When their kids are grown

The battles over

            And the only remembrance

Of trips in the car

Are phone calls from their children

With tales of a new generation of battles

And new levels of boredom

And somehow the same question emerges

Part of a collective subconscious

Asked again as in days of old

            Are we there yet?