Backseat Passenger

A station wagon sidles up to our burping Yaris
on Highway 400
a kid, maybe 13
with a flip in his shagged brown hair
window gazes curiously
and quarter-smiles
a twitch in his soft
still baby young cheeks
And me with my
too cool sunglasses and obnoxious
snap my eyes to the front seat headrest
unwilling to acknowledge the
decade and a half
connection that intertwines
me and this kid
through glass
while parents natter in the front
us kids
contemplate the road



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