The trouble with driving
was I didn't want to learn.
I never believed
the car was innocent of guile
never trusted it to do
just what I directed
without some unexpected
deviation of its own.
My driving was a tense
negotiation
between mind and matter
between my will
and the car's inert
mechanical resistance.
This led to much anxiety
increasing exponentially
as speed and traffic grew,
resolving only
at the end of each excursion
with a full stop
releasing me mercifully
back to the safe simplicity
of moving on my feet..

Although the years
have built assurance
and left my far too frequent
accidents behind
I still have dreams
where brakes won't work
out of sheer perversity
teasing me to panic
at each just missed
collision
underlining my conviction
control is an illusion
meant for fools and children
easily disproven
by even one bad spin-out
into the air
from a black-iced road