I saw you turn off the engine
but the car is gathering speed.
You took your hands off the wheel
and calmly rolled out the door.
I press my foot to the floor,
trying to steer from the back seat.
The tarmac is black.
Raindrops are filling the screen.
The baby is crying.
We begin to hurtle downhill
in a wandering, dangerous, freewheel, scream.
Through tunnels,
round bends,
I lean,
gritting my teeth and praying.
The inevitable crash never comes,
regardless of having no brakes.
That’s the power I still have
in this darkly recurring dream.