Tim’s on Acid and He’s Driving

I hear the senior girls
in the back seat
I wonder how we made it
to the front his thigh
is right next to mine
maybe this speed is
for me I look to Rachel
she’s beating time against
the passenger window
I am weightless floating
we careen streaks of light
as his Buick unfolds ribbons
on MacArthur it’s not even late but I
have already missed choir
I should have called my dad
I know it proves he’s right
no seat belts just my foot braced
below the dash cigarette smoke
and I don’t know where to look
the world is coming at me
in blurred shapes I want to still
the girls in the back yelling
what the fuck you need
to slow the fuck down
he’s already laughing
he’s already hit the gravel
and when we lift off
and begin to circle the axis
I blink calm like I knew
it would happen this way:
my left arm around
Rachel, my right behind
the seat, my face
to her shoulder
an embrace
before impact

Rebecca Connors was raised in the suburbs of Washington, D.C, and received her BA in English from Boston University. After trying multiple cities, she's back in Boston, where she spends her time writing poetry and building websites. Her work has recently appeared in Eunoia Review and burntdistrict.