During the car ride uninterrupted by
cell phone-talkers, my father's
pinky snare and index crash tapped
loudly on the steering wheel.
I played air-piano.
He silenced his other children in the back seat
so he could hear me sing loudly, in perfect-pitch,
gesturing during the chorus.
My sisters sat with their arms crossed, rolling their eyes.
My brother scowled and leaned his freckled forehead
against the vibrating window.
"Get over here, Fat Bitch!"
My brother, standing at the top of the stairs
embracing a blue sleeping bag.
I ran up the stairs to the back of our makeshift line
behind my laughing sisters.
James began his face-first slide
onto the downstairs landing.