In The Back Seat

I miss the sight of car seats
All slanted from the back
The smell of leather
And windows that wouldn’t roll all the way down

I miss the backs of headrests
And how I struggled to see over the top of heads much higher than mine
The hair wind-snared
The cigarette ash flying far behind

But now I’ve seen over them
Towering above leather and upholstery
Wishing, only wishing
To forget what I saw beyond the windscreen