Backseat Bedtime Story

A shopping cart castle pushed past closing time. Half-price bread and

the clerk pretends not to mind. Fast food napkins folded into makeshift

wipes. She laughs it off, says, "We're camping out

tonight." Oh. Backseat bedtime, seat belts for a crib.

She hums old cartoons 'til their breathing evens in. Fog on the

window, street lamp on her face. She writes, "Jobless," on a

crumpled parking ticket page. This is our backseat bedtime story. Dashboard lamp and

blaze of glory. Close your eyes. We're flying somewhere bright. She hides the