L Plates Off

Third attempt.
Thirty-nine years old.

(L plates off!)

The examiner said "that's a pass" so flat
you'd think he handed out sunrises daily.
I sat in the car park and phoned everyone
in the order they'd believed in me. Short list. Loud calls.
My sister answered mid-shift, whisper-screamed,
told a ward of strangers. The ward approved.
My mate texted a gif of a rocket.
My mum said 'now you can visit.' Loaded. Lovely.
Twenty years of shotgun. Twenty years
of other people's playlists and other people's routes,
of "can someone drop me," of last trains,
of rain at bus stops doing its slow arithmetic,
of watching the motorway from the left,
of folding maps for men who wouldn't stop,
of knowing every service station's flowers,
of planning my life around other people's petrol,
of gratitude with a seatbelt on.
I peeled the L plates off like plasters.
Under them, the paint was newer. Same as me.
The instructor shook my hand like a colleague,
said 'about time' — meaning both of us —
Seventeen lessons. Best money I ever spent slowly.

Adjust the mirror — that's my face.
Adjust the seat — that's my legs.
Radio? Mine. Route? Mine.
Both hands on my own ten and two.

L plates off!

(windows down)
First solo lap with the radio loud.
Twenty years of shotgun — now the wheel's a crown —
L plates off tonight.

Who's driving?

Who's driving?

(she's driving!)
Says who?

(she's driving!)
Says who?

(says the licence!)

Sunday, six a.m., I took the slip road
like a woman easing into warm water,
indicators on so long they wrote morse,
Merged. Nobody died. Historic.
The lorry I overtook will never know
he was a milestone. Godspeed, lorry.
Three junctions of pure cathedral quiet,
then I laughed so hard at nothing
I had to turn the radio down to finish.
Stopped at the services like a legend,
bought a coffee I didn't need,
read the big map by the doors like a general,
put a pound in the charity bin, magnanimous,
just to walk back across the car park
to a car that waits for me now,
keys doing their little jingle anthem,
door unlocking at the sight of my hand.

Adjust the mirror — still my face.
Fifth gear — that's my hand.
Radio? Mine. Route? Anywhere.
Both hands on my own ten and two.

L plates off!

(windows down)
First solo lap with the radio loud.
Twenty years of shotgun — now the wheel's a crown —
L plates off tonight.

Mirror. Signal.
Absolutely nowhere to be.
Manoeuvre.
Drove home the long way. On purpose.
Every long way is mine now.

Failed at twenty-two and let it settle.
Failed at thirty and called it fate.
Passed at thirty-nine because a Tuesday came
when I was done being a passenger
in more things than the car.
The examiner will never know
he handed me the keys to all of it.

L plates off!

(windows down)
Slip road, six a.m., cathedral quiet.
Twenty years of shotgun — watch the mirror now —
L plates off for good.

Anywhere.

(anywhere)
L plates off.