cars that drive themselves 

they're building cars that drive themselves
& soon they'll pace the world like any other animal.
i make believe tonight i'm sleeping over 
at the house i grew up in.
i go out & lay on the hood my old green volvo
like i never have before but have always wanted to. 
the car breathes as it sleeps 
in its reptile skin & worn out tires.
i think about the first day i had the car
& how i drove three hours to pick up
each of my friends all around Pennsylvania.
the toll roads sprawl with forest on either side.
a deer standing between trees & staring
at the river of cars. i put my ear
to the car's cool skin to listen to its organs.
soon it will be hungry & i'll bring out
the left over bones from dinners & 
the scraps from peeled potatoes. on my phone
i read about an accident where a self-driving car
killed a pedestrian & i ask my car
if it would be careful-- if it would always
promise to look both ways. i wonder if 
the car felt remorse. maybe & maybe it 
crawled on all fours to a junk yard
where it's now still waiting to be crushed.
i could trade places though. i could try 
having less of a consciousness. i wonder what
that feels like to just listen to what
another body decides-- a key in my mouth 
the steering wheel twisting inside my chest.
i tell my old car that it doesn't have 
to do anything it doesn't want to-- that it
doesn't have to be alive even if all the the other cars
start taking road trips by themselves. 
i see empty cars parked at the beach &
outside the supermarket at night. 
another car drives itself around the block 
again & again as if it's watching us.
i tell myself it's just curious though i do
worry it's the car that killed a person. 
i open up my car's hood to see all the intricacies
like dissecting a shark but without 
the gloves & scissors. i don't know anything inside 
but i do know that my car is alive 
so i should be gentle. i trace my finger 
across the top of every object that interests me.
i want to sleep forever & wake up mechanical
in a body that makes decisions more easily.
a few houses down a neighbor's car turns
its light on. two bold eyes in the night.
i don't live at this house anymore & my car
does not drive itself. i am really in my bed 
in an apartment long away. i speak as if 
anyone can hear me & i go to the dark living room
& check out the window to see if there's any cars outside. 
no. none at all. no living cars taking themselves
on a nighttime drive. i pretend my old car
can hear my thoughts & i tell it to arrive here
& pick me up & drive me into a new frame.