They've been sitting back there for years,
Clear glass containers filled with brine.
(Make new friends but keep the old, they said,
And who am I if not one to comply with aphorisms?)

I drive slowly and steadily, and am so
Careful not to turn right on red or
Accidentally speed through intersections or
Change lanes without signaling.

I stop for school buses.
I brake for animals.
I’m a model citizen.

Really,
I'm just terrified
that the jars will
tip over, crack, spill, and stain.

And paranoid that I'll be pulled over.

Worried that while I
fidget in the front seat,
nibble nervously on my nails,
watch the reflections of flashing lights
in my rearview and side mirrors

Mr. Officer will run my license
for outstanding warrants,

changed names, changed stories, changed lives,

or maybe he’ll search my trunk and
discover my dirty little secret.

I had nowhere else
to hide the bodies.