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issue 2: ROAD TRIP

the second row

JERICA TAYLOR
The second row of seats in our getaway
van is not properly bolted to the floor.
Our heads hit the roof and our haul

rattles in the back, guitar cases a domino
line, downed by a sharp curve. Speeding
on the highway, we make a game

of it. Can we lift our hips in tandem
so that we are ever so briefly
airborne? I undo the belts, mine

and yours. What good are restraints,
if no one has secured what’s beneath us?
Out of the shotgun seat rises the complaint

that the creak of metal would be more
circumspect if we were fucking. We’re good
at that chase, too. But we are better

at winging it. I can’t ever return the loot
from that town myself. Instead, every night I
yield to the noise, and we peddle our own

bootlegs. I think you know exactly which bump
knocked those bolts loose. I pull my hoodie over my
eyes and press my cheek to the cold curve

of window glass. As you rest your head on my
shoulder, asleep or almost, I try to gauge
the time we have left until the rest breaks down.

Jerica Taylor is a neurodivergent queer cook, birder, and chicken herder. She lives with her wife and young daughter in Western Massachusetts.
perhappened mag
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header photo: moritz kindler (unsplash)

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  • the mag
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