BACKSEAT DRIVER FINALLY SHUTS UP

In Daytona Beach, Florida

I drive my handwringing Granny

in a beat-up used rental car

to a meeting at the Happy Hour club.

There’s a drunken bumblebee

in my ear buzzing orders:

Slow down, watch out, hill ahead,

big truck, railroad tracks, red tail lights,

go this way, go that way, turn now,

almost causing many accidents

until we head down a dead-end road,

slippery as Aloe Cadabra lubricant

all the way to the dock of the bay.

Worn brakes hit the floor to no avail.