Like a red light on the dashboard 

My mother told me I was nothing and hopeless 

every day for years, before I could even drive,

every time I walked through one of our run of rooms. 

In that slum I felt like nothing and nobody,  

being in those little rooms proved it to me

and I believed her, about me, all the way down.

But when I got out there in the fresh air

all those other people smiled at me, 

so I felt a lot of hope, and I smiled back, triple! 

But, when I got back home into the TV dinner air, 

she wiped it off me when she told me they 

didn’t know me like she did, no one else ever would. 

She did that intentionally,

did her best, like a plan

to keep me close, friendless. 

That woman fucked me over. 

Because, now …

sometimes, years and rooms later

I see a red light on my dashboard

and sometimes, I still believe her. 

So, now … 

rather than turn up the radio, so 

I can’t hear the grinding of my engine 

or brain

I get out of the car

and walk out of there.