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

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