Stories From The Windscreen Of My Car Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

The world comes to me at the speed
I go into it. It brings buildings
And trees of Palo Alto with shining
Leaves into my view at the speed of
My car. I ask my car to slow down
With my foot which I take off the
Pedal and the speedometer tells me
The story of things inanimate that
I can have the controls, but I do
Not push the pistons of life up and
Down. That is still the work of
The engine.

I listen thinking I am wise for
I alone can see the world for the
Windscreen is the one that brings
The stories on the road to me.
This cyclist that wears a T-shirt
That has spiders on it looks at
Me daggers as I pass near him
Almost bumping him for this is
The problem of being small and
Riding around people who look
At the world through the windscreen
Of their car. The world comes to them
Smaller than that of a cyclist
Whose head is cast on the ground
In front of him as he works his
Way up the climb.

I pass stories of joggers in twos
And one in particular who jogs on
Both streets by looping his way
From one street to the other for
I know as I catch up with him on
the other side that my car has
Come to be as slow as a jogger
Who loops his way through streets.
This life of driving on and on
At speeds of humans has long
Been telling me to get a new
One, but I am so in love with
The stories I have come to see
Through the windscreen of my car
That I do not want another for
The tint I will get will not be
The same. They say people do not
Like change, but I do not like
Windscreens to be taken for granted
For they shape the world in
Front of us like the brain they
Force to focus on the narrow in
Front of them. My world is small
But as long as it it as small
As the windscreen of the world
I will still stay myself for
I will have seen only what
Providence allowed through
The windscreen of my brain,
Should I decide to get rid
Of my heap of scrap with whom
We have become second cousins.