The front seat

Pushing over clawing eyes

Fighting for a holy prize

While our mother watches in complete surprise

The front seats open and up for grabs

The one that usually is dad’s

But he is out and not in his space.

Finally old enough to take his place

We run and try to stake our claim

My sister screams “I’m the oldest”

As my brother plays “well you’re the dumbest”

While I just try to keep up the pace

Trying to evade a jockey jab

Pulling hair and going mad

Oh that glorious seat

In witch for reasons we have engaged in war

A separate region no one would give back

Where complaints don’t exists and nothing lacks

There are no battles for belts

With all the music in ones reach

And one has the ability to control the air

Every authority one could ever dream

Came to those who reigned over the front seat

Eventually there is a rest to the madness

And a winner is produced

Now officially presiding over that blessed hold

My sister, the victor, now governs the front  

While the defeated remain in the back

My brother on my left

And the window to my right

I made peace with my stretch of leather

And began to see it as my right

In the green van

And in the red one

In the flex

Or the truck

In the caravan

In the motorhome

And even in the Subaru

This has always been my spot

And we rode like this for what seemed like forever

But forever had a funny way with words

One by one the seats become open

As my sister leaves one day

And my brother the next

Soon I realize that holy front seat is unoccupied

And there is not a fight awaiting the ride

I can hear my kinfolk saying

That It has been reserved for me

But I can’t bring myself to sit

It is not my place to be

For every time I look there

I see the people there before me

And you may find it unreal

That I’ve grown attached to my slot

And it brings me comfort

To imagine those very two

Who have left to me this empty spot

And gone so far away