Cruising

Glasses off,
feet on the dash.

Glance in the passenger side mirror,
as my hair wipes through the wind.

This is truly living.

Feel my phone buzz in my pocket,
chuck it out the window,
cursing modern tech.

Cannot fathom being inside,
studying,
dreaming,
and hoping for freedom.

Maybe I'll go home,
settle in,
be a good girl,
and become the thing my parents always asked me to be.

No,
I think I'll stay in this moment.

Turn the radio up,
arm dance,
simultaneously running a finger across his shaggy beard.

I know what he's after,
most boys for that matter.

If he plays his cards right,
I might reward him.

Instead I'll play the role of Lolita,
not letting on that I'm a smart girl.

Wicked intentions aside,
I'm in control,
and will lead him to his inevitable death.

Death by female scorn.