Memory #2079

by Dainon Moody

Days when air conditioning escaped

our lint-lined pockets, I ride

a dusty Datsun with Dad,

arm wrestle the wind. I lose

when I want to, an arm frozen

in motion, gripping teeth and white

knuckles pushing to a rear-

view mirror. A hand wrapping

my thigh scares me into

letting go; I lose our war

this day, meeting him here

tomorrow, to scream at clouds,

to high-five my barrier,

to play.

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