By the docks on Third Avenue
you try to teach me
to drive stick.

Twice into third gear
I switched
when you confidently prodded me
towards greater Brooklyn.

You sat faithfully casual
by my side
until a bus turned
too wide
and I had to reverse,
stalled instead
immediately cried
with you shouting to turn back
on the car
to shift again
the bus horn serenading
our dispute.

I listened and shifted into reverse
and into first too,
across the street
then pulled over and said,
“never again.”

We switched roles then,
continuing the two steps forward
one step back
of daughterhood.

Me perpetually
in the back seat,
safe.