There are select individuals
who live in the car ride over.
Right now one is fixing her leg room
another is fixed on the window.
They could live here forever,
they could learn to swim behind seatbelts
and could be married upon headrests.
They live in the back seats
between the trunk and the console
between your house and mine,
and there is a certain moment
marking the beginning and end of their lives
in the motion of the wheels,
one turn of the driveshaft,
somewhere in between
top dead center and bottom dead center,
the car in the middle of the intersection
exactly halfway from start and finish,
just at the moment the light turns yellow.
They were different people before they got in
and they change again as they step out.
Beautiful, beautiful moments
fastened in fake leather seats.