Like most men, traveling in the pitch of night

Passing through unfamiliar parts.
Unfamiliar unless you want to count
The fact that this is the third approach
To the same intersection- each from a different direction.
Yes, like most men in this situation,
It’s hard to admit we have no clue where we are
And you can forget about stopping to ask someone.

Even though I am crying out my SOS
From the passenger seat- beating fists on the glass.
But the passersby cannot hear my shouts for help
Through the vehicle’s sound proofing panes.
They can’t see me through the limo tinting either.

I desperately need assistance in this car
For the driver has ceased to consider
The consequences of speeding any longer.
As well as safety, right-of-way, or where we are headed.

And with Mr. Melancholy at the helm,
I have lost any and all control over him
Let alone the powers of influence I once had.
He has his own agenda now
And the suggestion box is closed.

I love this man driving OUR car
And I truly only want what’s best
For the both of us and so- I’m lost
In this car traveling in the night,
With no headlights illuminating the road,
The driver doesn’t know where we are,
Doesn’t care where we end up and
Doesn’t stop to think things through for once.
That maybe there is someone else in here
Who has put forth a lot so that WE
Would be driving a car instead of walking.
That if this mid-sized sedan should, by chance,
Veer off into a ditch, tree or building,
Then he would not be the only one to parish.
That there would be a second name in
The report they’ll show on the morning news.

I have a choice to make:

Do I take advantage of the unlocked doors?
By sliding off my seatbelt discreetly and
Spontaneously make the proverbial leap
Onto the pavement fast moving underneath the car?
I’d tumble and roll along the asphalt
Get banged up a bit and maybe break a bone
But the injuries would be sustainable
And the healing would then be able to take place.

Or should I continue with the mad driver?
I’d be unsure of what might occur the next minutes,
And painfully suffer through his road rage rants
(Again totally sustainable injuries).
With the ever-persistent but inspiring hope
That I do have the power to show him
That I do care and possibly, miraculously
Ease his mind and diminish his demons.
Eventually slowing the vehicle to a coast.

But should I not succeed at my stressful task.
Wind up another victim on the evening news
Being pulled lifeless from the crumpled car.
I promised I’d be with him to the end,
But what if this damned four-way stop
We approach from yet a different direction
IS where we wave good night before the curtain falls?
And we’ve been too lost to even realize it.