Inevitable Poem by Jonathan hunter

I watch the dents accumulate on mom's car
(she moved out you know..)
and shudder
Never the boldest driver
and slowly shrinking behind the steering wheel
she grips like a weary bird
clinging to independence
She rides the clutch
like a horseman to the Apocalypse
despite the whining protest
of years keeping the gears barely touching

Her timidity in a small car
lurching through streets
choked with gargantuan trucks
would give an Italian Film Director heartburn
Trained on British streets
she still looks the wrong way first
and follows the rules
even when no one else does