Hidden Drive (Prose Poem)

Twisting along night roads of southern California, yellow and white lines rushing below, I rocked within my mechanical uterus. I was held too long. An ignored check engine light as my mother roamed from parking lot, to hidden drive, to friend’s garage. My birth was quiet. I came out compressed and slick. Luckily, my expulsion was on a driveway at night. She was frantic about her departure. An argument or an overstayed welcome or another manic episode caused her to sneak away in the early hours. She found me asleep, oil dripping from the car onto my head. My soft spot absorbing the 50/50 synthetic blend while she wondered what to do.