Passenger

There I am
in the left
back seat
smearing salt drops
and puddles
with small hiding hands
disappearing into the wet grey belt
tracing my cold nose
on the smooth moist vinyl
again wiping so no one sees
droplets on tiny wire glasses
shirt blotched
hair sticking
shrinking into the door
crevice
so close and
up against
smelling warm plastic
squeezing the hard metal
handle
handling myself
fixing myself
so no one sees
always searching
seeing out of smudged
lense and
car pane