Skeleton Key
Kameelah Brower-Daniel
Droopy eyed car rides.
Cross the bridge that dips into cities,
Uptown that drowns out sounds.
Familiar terrain in an unfamiliar place.
Something old to be bought,
Something begrudgingly sought,
Donuts after traffic lights,
Late nights loitering in empty parking lots.
Brother in blue and white, cringing for mother’s return.
Lock-jawed anxiety, muscles flexed,
Insides in high octaves begging for an outing.
She stepped loudly from the sliding doors.
Clink! Clink! Clinkety-Clomp!
She plopped into the driver’s seat.
Adjusted her mirror. Squinted at me.
Eyebrows arched into a three-sided threat.
She glanced over at brother, struggling and squirming.
Smoothly relayed her warnings to him.
Tossed the bag into the back seat,
Said, “Here,”
“Don’t lose it again,”
And gunned the gas.