"The Death of the Roadtrip," or "E°," a sonnet I wrote, inspired by a time when we all had money and used to go places.

All I remember was the car had gas,

Us pretending it was a stretch limo,

Asking for directions through plexiglass,

Eating McDonald's in our neck pillows.

Thank God that when we made it to Vegas,

Nearly all the Starbucks had great hours.

While she typed in “dispensaries near us,”

I took selfies by the Eiffel tower.

We bought alien magnets from a tent

Just outside of AREA-51.

Saw the Grand Canyon glisten wet,

It was raining that day, it never does.

And if I still had that money today?

There’d be gas in the car to get away.