Sixteen

He dreams about 4X4ing,

motors, mud, and me,

of how you can feel yourself

sink when the ground

is too soft, the rumble

of engines and the taste of sweat.

"Built Ford Tough"

There are callouses on his hands,

rough from working overtime.

He drums his fingers on the steering wheel

and on my knees, says that he's ready

to go. The guys are yelling,

press their feet against the gas,

shoot forward so fast the seat belts

cut into our abdomens.

Everything happens

in a flash of dirt and tires,

flying bodies

as we sail over over mounds of earth, scream

at the top of our lungs.