the last leg

you decide
to let your
best friend
emily drive
the last leg
to the beach.
she's been
begging you
to drive.
she talks with
her hands
and her cell
phone is
on the dash
board. there
is a diet coke
between her
knees and
the music is
up. she says
which way,
quite often,
what's the
speed limit
around here
anyway, and do
we have anymore
chips back
there, where
you sit curled
up saying
the rosary.