Our younger son has taken college visits, so he has ridden in the front, so hubby can ask the questions to get to the heart of what he is thinking about the schools.
That has left me with one of the captain's chairs in the middle row. These are my thoughts.
The back seat is a deprivation chamber
Music's loud from overhead
Darkness outside make the windows mirrors
No control over temperature
But sometimes windows are a giant Magna Doodle
Did you know the backseat is bumpy?
Open containers
like a coffee mug
spill or bump your teeth.
Bumps and brake taps
tighten seatbelts
and don't...let...go.
You can hear voices
but are not a part of the conversation
unless someone turns their head.
Yep.
I've learned a lesson.
When your kids ask,
"Are we there yet?"
it's because they'd be in
trouble if they said what they wanted to,
"Get me the heck outta here!"
What an interesting perspective. I don't care much for sitting in the backseat anymore. For some reason I get car sick back there. Probably from the reasons you mentioned in your poem!
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