When we were kids I always sat on the driver’s side, got a flat left temple from leanin’ on the window for 14 years. At first it was ‘cause when I was real little I would cry if I couldn’t see mom, and then it was just ‘cause that’s how it’d always been, and then big brother moved up front and pushed the passenger seat all the way back so there wasn’t room behind it anyway, and then, and then. And then it was my turn to move up front and I pushed the passenger seat all the way back ‘cause the back was empty anyway. And yeah, it’d always been like that. I think I used to hate summer ‘cause it meant everything got brittle and brown. But maybe I can remember a time when the horseweed stood taller than me and it was green and I coulda been anywhere in 2 acres but I built a pallet fort and climbed up on top of the dog house anyway. Now summer comes and I can still see the green tryin’ to poke through the drought heat and I’m not so brittle anymore. When I can see my own red-dirt pulse in my overexposed wrist it’s fine ‘cause it’s always been like that. I drive too fast on dirt roads and I guess the dust clouds in the rearview say I’m runnin’ from something. But I’ve got two or three fingertips on the wheel ‘cause my pulse is jumping in my palm and every other seat is empty and sue me, maybe I want out this damn car. Maybe I want red dirt on my skin instead of behind me in dry flashes of memory. The dirt ain’t been red in a long time but it’s dust clouds in the rearview so maybe it’s always been like that.