Little Man Riding Shotgun
A rainy morning, tires don't work well
A semi pulls out, my brakes, I slam, the car cease to propel.
Skid marks on the street, my heart skips a beat
One hand on the wheel, the other on his chest.
No harm to this adolescent, nor a automobile mess.
A innocent child I call family keeps me bliss.
Driving me foward no matter what weather,
Whether it be sunny, rainy or a mist.
Contempt yet driven; I always rise from bed.
Because even on rainy days, sunny thoughts of him fill my head.
This poem is about:
Me
My family