The city lights are in the distance
Distorted in the rain.
My eyelids begin to droop,
head by the window. I am not driving.
I can sleep if I want to.
My dad can drive-
I can’t drive-
the pitter-patter of rain:
soothing me to fall asleep.
My eyelids close
It falls harder now, the rain.
It pounds, it drenches.
Safe inside my car,
white noise everywhere
almost too much: covering the windows
and melting the light,
only color can get through
to dance on my face.
Bags under my eyes, but I want to stay awake
to see the light show,
fighting slumber’s call.
Watching the city approach,
half asleep
in a unexpectedly cozy car;
I am almost home.
We turn onto our street,
trip over, rain still pouring down.
Why can’t I stay in the car?
I am not a little kid anymore,
my mom, my dad,
they won’t carry me upstairs,
to bed, to the rain on my windows.
It makes me sleep.