January 6 / Car Nap

Sitting in a motionless car feels

nostalgic; so many hours 

of childhood as a passenger waiting

for someone to finish something

so we could go, waiting 

for something to start always

the action beyond me,

outside the steel frame. Today I’m in 

the driver’s seat parked

while my son naps, his cheeks droop,

a half eaten tube of yogurt clenched

like a prize in his fist. I am waiting

for him to finish sleeping,

the action happening all around us.

We are a steel cocoon of sleep 

and murmurs, a mother typing poetry 

into her phone, her son dreaming,

the pedestrians glancing

in at us and walking on.