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# Losing it
- URL: https://dianaludwick.com/losing-it/
- Published: 2026-06-29T12:05:16.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-24T20:07:20.000Z
- Description: “Losing It,” a participant observation poem on long car rides in the summer, written Monday, June 29, poem 180 in a series of 365 poems written by Diana Ludwick in 2026. P"The Road Is Well Traveled," Photo by Diana Ludwick (c) 2026
- Author: Diana Ludwick
- Tags: 2026 Poetry Challenge, Dry Humor, Faux Lament, Generational, Humor, Loosely Hinged, Of Place, Perimenopause, Poems, Car ride, Dehydrated, Family Travel, Flight Attendants, Fourth of July, Headaches, Heat Dome, Holiday Traffic, June, Leather, Madness, Orange Crush, Passengers, PJ, Pop Songs, Road Trip, Skittles, Soupy, Summer, Weather, #Migrated-1792872215677, #wp, #wp-post, #Import 2026-10-24 20:03

On hour eleven  
Of a Family Car Trip TM  
On a sweltering day  
That the weather forecaster   
described as “soupy”  
  
We are losing it  
Melting   
into the ether  
  
Melding   
with the automotive leather  
  
Brain cells clumping   
in molten heaps  
  
Dripping   
out of our ears  
  
The child is spontaneously laughing  
The partner is quietly grimacing  
My head is a duel   
of tension headaches   
and pop music super saturation  
  
He pipes in the World Cup  
So unseen crowds   
cheer and jeer in stereo   
And somehow   
no matter how far we drive,  
it seems like   
the miles to go are unchanged  
  
And now we find pace   
As we coast   
through Mystic Seaport  
And the sun is at our back  
And the traffic is at bay  
And while the cabin   
likely still carries air   
from stifling Maryland  
lurking in zipped luggage  
or closed cooler bags,  
we are shifting   
into New England  
Leaving the algae   
and the falling stages   
and the tens of people  
thronging on the Mall  
and the mid-Atlantic   
Heat Dome behind us.  
  
Onward  
Into the liminal space   
between dusk and twilight  
When the sky is bright   
but the road is dull   
And the cars smooth   
in their arcs across dashed lines,   
no longer filled   
with vexation and verve,   
swerving and cutting off   
and honking left at the state line  
  
Some families prefer air travel   
A quick Uber to DCA   
and a direct flight   
into an international   
Eastern seaboard hub.  
  
But we are a people of things  
Many, many things.  
Of foods  
Of electronics  
Of not yet baked goods  
Of art projects  
And stacks of books  
And full sized hair products  
And multiple paddle brushes.  
And sleep-away camp gear.  
  
And so once again   
we find ourselves  
In the PJ  
— The private jalopy —   
the living room on wheels  
with full-sized pillows  
and a fleet of projectile hazards:  
forty ounce steel water vessels   
in the trendiest hues,   
lavender Polaroid cameras,   
three backpacks filled to the brim   
with heavy bulky items.  
  
Basic Economy could never.  
  
And while we lack flight attendants  
we also lack hot food service  
and onboard lavs  
and a double on the rocks,   
make it fast  
  
But what we do have  
is body odors mingling  
and increasingly loopy passengers  
and off key singing  
and clashing tastes in playlists  
and occasional sleepers  
(not yet the driver)  
and a packet of double flavor Skittles   
for the cheap cheap price   
of eight dollars ninety   
and which I can hear but not see  
as they plunk plunk plunk   
out of the poly bag   
into the depths of the car crevices  
likely never to be found again  
  
And the sound of sugar beads  
which will surely melt into the frame   
and seams and weave of car  
are like the few remaining   
marbles rattling in my dehydrated skull  
  
But the memories, we have made  
no one can take away  
the sounds  
the smells  
the groans   
the giggles  
the sights of endless bumpers,   
which would prompt my dad to say:  
“If you’re not the alpha dog?   
Then the view is all the same.”  
  
The feel of grit under feet  
and lukewarm Orange Crush   
seeping out of an errant rolling can.   
No one can take these   
core moments of madness from us  
(nor, would they even want to?)