Day Twelve: Sonnet in which we share more than rides.

I will highlight all five stars on my phone

if the song played in your car is silence

yet without fail, each male driver received

believes his voice to be an improvement

upon the hushed air soothing his sedan

and thus each spouts, per breath, a thousand words

which are worth a picture says the adage

always a dick pic, never a landscape

always some absurd proof of our maleness —

an alms of fruit from our implied treaty

salt-watered from the pails of women’s eyes

forged in fire desiring them kindling

and though I don’t gather to warm my hands

I brood and sing the song I wanted.