by Gene Fehler
Back before seat belts,
Dad sat me on his lap
and let me steer his ‘48 Packard
straight along the highway,
smooth as a hawk’s flight.
I glided into our driveway,
fed the car easily
into our garage’s narrow mouth.
I never saw his hands beneath mine
on the steering wheel,
smoothing the curves,
keeping us subtly and safely
on the straight road,
my father behind me all the way
with gentle nudging and secret steering
keeping it all in line.
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