It doesn't matter why we're going,
So much. It matters that
Dear Daddy is lost again.

One wrong street sign after the next, and
the shrill keen of Mother
All scolding and barbs and anger.

So as I sit in back, clutching
my head as the car spins and turns,

I wonder--

If death claimed us all right now,
Would our souls remain, driving in
eternal little circles, doomed to
Forever search for Rochester?