Breaking Habits

I stare at the cracked windshield,
now aware that I have pissed myself.
Before or during, I can't be certain.
Pungent ammonia mingles with gasoline,

pinging somewhere behind me.
A single wiper remains on the scene;
It takes three half-assed wipes at the moon
before it also stops caring.

I lower my gaze to spot one of my
shoes on the dashboard, still neatly tied.
It now sports a looping new logo;
The glistening rouge offers some hope.

I catch a reflection in the mirror,
and burst out laughing at the broken,
bloodied and snot covered face.
He laughs with me.

We appreciate the irony,
wearing a seatbelt for this particular trip.

Indeed she was right,
I thought, snorting through pain;
Some habits are hard to break.