Travelling In The Backseat Poem by Dan Brown

I’m travelling in the backseat,
acquiring a unique perspective on things.
I see not the incessant flow of trafficked metal,
but an endless stream, coloured the fiercest red,
that leads the way home.
I miss the annoyance of the pounding rain,
which hides the road ahead.
I see, instead, a soothing sheet of water,
caressing the windscreen and stroking us as we go.
My backseat companions, a boy and a dog,
are no longer my brother and pet.
Now, just strangers, sharing my world
and talking soundlessly.
The litter crowding my feet belongs here, too.
It is art in it’s most uninspired form.
Road signs that glare as we drive past
appear not so bland. Instead, they hold me
captivated, as if reading them may somehow save my life.
My claustrophobia in the crowded car is no more,
as the infinite bickering and chattering fades to
monotonous murmurings.
I am free, to drift in my thoughts, and
play out so many things in my mind.
I feel enlightened; the backseat is my own,
I am alone in this placid place, afforded
my own company.
It is through entirely different eyes with which
I shall now regard travelling in the backseat,
for I know, now, there is a cooling World
within the stifling heat.