Going to Grandma’s for Christmas

Looking behind, I see trees

growing smaller as we go.

Birds are flying backwards

against fat drops of snow —

cardinals red as candy canes,

geese honking in disdain.

* * * * *

I’m bored — we’ve not come too far,

but Mum and Dad say stop:

“Stop kicking seats and pulling hair

and poking sister in the eye.”

(She deserved it, triple swear.)

* * * * *

Songs wail and bop with Santa,

tinny from seats in back,

and now the car is stopping, yay!

but it’s just to have a snack.

* * * * *

Grandma’s is still far away

and Christmas farther yet.

“No,” says Dad when I beg to play.

* * * * *

“Mum’s changing sister’s poopy pants.”

Fine, I’ll give this car trip one more chance —

* * * * *

I’m sad when… “Back in the car,” says Dad.