SMOKE AND MIRRORS

The feel of the wind as it whips through my hair,

Raindrops on my face.

“Pull down your visor,” he says,

“The dust will get in your eyes.”

I smell the smoke,

Hear the blaring horns

Of the city streets.

He aims for a pothole –

The biggest in sight!

I shriek,

Clutching him

Tighter around the waist.

I only wish I could see the grin that

Lights up his face…

 

And now we do the same commute,

Sitting sedately side by side.

Your eyes on the road,

You turn up the volume of your favourite show; I

Pull down the visor,

Look in the vanity mirror, and

Apply fresh makeup,

To hide my scars.