Road Trip to Blackpool

Elena Hailwood

Windows drawn down in our old, blue car

I’m sitting in the front seat.

Cool air rushes over my face,

As Shania booms out from a scratched CD.

And we sing, bellow

To our fleeting audience

And they behold us, in our glory,

With bemusement.

Pity them,

Out there.

Not in our car.

Walking.

Tuneless.

Alone.

What greater joy than to be us right now,

Speeding through summer air.

Free.

Irreverent.

Together.

What greater joy than to hear,

Our voices entwined,

With each other’s,

Our harmonies of laughter,

Roaring,

Arrogant,

Emboldened by that childishness,

That you told us to never give up.