My foot waits on the clutch,
my hand shaking above the shifter,
a small hill, that might as well
be Mt. Everest, towers in front of me.
We spent an hour arguing while I
wrestled with the gears and pedals;
howbeit, I didn’t retain anything you
said. Intrepid as my decision
was, this hill may get the best of me.
I don’t have you to tell me, go easy;
the car jerks, tears splash in my lap
and the engine stutters. You could
have kept calm, not hung over me
like this hill sits now. You can
argue with someone else.
Gently off the clutch, ease on the gas and
climb over the hill; I’m going home.
-Chloe Marin Lott