The Driving Test: A Sestina

by Lydia J. Sauers

Once, when I was first a teenager,
only able to ride as a passenger,
never allowed to pass
into the driver's seat, not even to park;
Mom would pull out her hair,
she didn't want me to drive, it was clear.

I was annoying her, it was quite clear.
It's the job of a teenager
to thin their parents' hair.
I'm but a lowly passenger;
can't I at least learn to park?
I promise, I won't try to pass.

I'll never pass
my driver's test-it is clear.
I'm not even allowed to park.
So what is a teenager
supposed to do? I'll be a passenger
forever! (I'm yanking my hair!)

Into a ponytail, I pull back my hair.
I want to see if I can pass.
No longer the passenger,
I wheedled my mom until it was clear
that even a teenager
needs a chance to learn to park.

"Take the gear out of park,"
the man said as he twisted his facial hair.
He is worried-I'm a teenager!
I hope I'll pass,
though it's plainly clear
that he wishes he weren't the passenger.

I don't have to be the passenger!
I learned how to drive and park.
I did scare him, that was clear.
While he rubbed his head that was void of hair,
but he said the words-"You pass."
Yippee for me! A teenager.

Clear the roads, I'm not going to park.
This teenager is no longer the passenger.
I passed my test, if even by a hair!