Zipping down the interstate,
Running late at half-past eight,
Children bickering in back –
Mother driver plans attack.
“Work it out,” she says, irate.
Miles pass, as on they clash.
Backseat bounces, while they thrash.
She, white-knuckled, grabs a drink
Of her water, thus to think.
Then it hits her like a flash:
Ceasefire comes with one backsplash.
Don’t look back to view the fray.
Creatively she’ll yet convey –
Their signal swap,
Their faces sop,
Communicating with a spray.
Across one shoulder with one squeeze,
A full surprise from them she’ll tease.
Thus startled, shocked,
Their battle blocked,
They’ll settle in for moment’s peace.
Ah, dear détente, they won’t forget
The day their clothes were soaking wet.
How tiny tempers may improve,
If hydrated while on the move.
Teach lessons on the fly? You bet!
This mama, she won’t text and steer,
But she can signal in high gear.
When kids may strive,
Still on she’ll drive
But telegraph a message clear.
c2025 by Linda Ann Nickerson
Image: Public domain image
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