Jeannine Hall Gailey
In these close cramped quarters we travel
together, the human race, one man kicking the seat
and another, too close, pinching my arm.
The sky-blue Plymouth of our lives is lined
in sticky vinyl and no one is playing the music
I like. Overhead the screams of vultures, but someone
shouts It’s a hawk! And someone else is playing
twenty questions, asking What is the mind of God?
Which way are we heading?
Careening down a freeway with few signs
or wonders, we do our best to stay focused
on enjoying the journey, distracting ourselves
with games, whistling in the dark. You and I
pass the crayons back and forth, telling each other
once more the story of creation, stories of genomes,
while the kind rabbits scramble over hills out of the sun.
Squabbling, we’re in a hurry to reach the end of our journey,
settle down in our final destination.