Sitting in the back seat
I watch my mother pull
our green 56’ chevy up over a curb
Hypnotique and menthols
sting my tongue
Embers flicker up front
Sirens scream behind us
Traffic merges, a man emerges
She rolls her window down
Lady you were doing 80
You have a child back there
In a voice sweet and sticky
She sugar talks that cop
like a woman who just met
the man of her dreams
Oh, we were just on our way
to the Toddle House for pie
It’s half price after midnight
Outside, he blows his breath
into his cupped hands
I’m thinking he wants
to touch the thick wavy hair
spiraling past her shoulders
Her moon shaped breasts
mashed up against
the half-opened window
Her top two buttons askew
Ringless fingers brush her lips
A smile on the verge of a lie
Officer, my brother’s the mayor
The cop shakes his finger at her
Laughs, then lets her go
Linda Laderman grew up in Toledo, Ohio. She lives and works in the Detroit area and is grateful for the opportunity to live in an era where technology has helped her find a community of writers that continues to grow.
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