Aerophobia, or Fear of Drafts of Air

By Austin Thornton

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C class license, acquired age 19, and why I never use it

By Austin Thornton

The first time I rode the freeway,
a semi almost merged me into asphalt. Twice.
My dad was there for that. He’d mentioned
how good truck drivers were 2 minutes earlier,
after he told me I’d get fendered for slowing at a turn.
He says he got his license as soon as 16
hit his calendar. I imagine he got ticketed,
he drove away so fast. He had to push my leg into the gas,
remind me to watch the cars in front, behind, and to the sides of me,
as well as speed, lights, signs, and blinkers,
I always thought he watched all seven and that’s why
we hadn’t gotten into an accident, but he yelled
at me for looking over my shoulder once,
and I just realized he pretends his fear away.
Sometimes I wonder when he’ll hit a motorcycle,
when I’ll hit a stroller. I can’t talk,
I almost did. I ran a light, two stop signs.
Sometimes I don’t see them,
the pedestrians, I mean, if I see the tires of a semi
scratching by the line, the body inflating like a blimp;
how easy the distance is between my femur and a mirror.
An air freshener could flick across it.
I never understood why people said Drive Safe. I still don’t,
for a different reason. One time I grazed the horn in an intersection.
Dad looked up from his phone like a deer.
Years ago, Thursday morning, 5am, he drove—more
swerved—an hour to get us to school, an open bottle
in the holder; sky still as dark as wine.
We got pulled over for a broken light. One time
I braked too early for a yellow, bumped the truck
behind me. But I was with Mom for that one.
She got out to talk to them, asked me to play Duster
for the ride home. The first time I drove, I scratched
the water pump, and no one ever noticed. No one ever fixed it.
For years, I would tease out the nick when I left the house.
I learned stick on Mom’s Kia, stalled
a couple times at lights, stripped the transmission to get going.
I was going to take it to school when I got my license.
The gear gave out the week before, but that’s the thing,
I was glad. My mom hates driving,
took a job 2 hours away. When I was 15,
she made me ask a teammate to drive me home for months.
​One night he couldn’t come.
I almost messaged her, but then I walked.

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Reading George Herbert’s “The Collar” made me want to believe in God again
​

By Austin Thornton

Author's note: ​This poem was written in a form I invented, which I tentatively am calling Solitaire, in which every stanza is an anagram of the title, with the same number of each letter shuffled into different variations. As you can imagine, this is very difficult, and it took a lot of work reshuffling each stanza to make something that (technically) makes sense, although on my fiance’s suggestion, and following Torrin Greathouse’s example, I decided the poem benefited from having footnotes, which is how it came to its current version. 

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​Austin Thornton is a diviner of refined sentimentalism, a modern metaphysical, a possible human, and the winner of several scholarships and awards, such as Oregon State University’s 2023 WIC Award and 2025 Provost Prize. Poetry, nonfiction, and fiction from this author are featured or forthcoming in Gleam, About Place, PRISM, and elsewhere. A novel is in progress, but more short stories and poems will be procrastinated with.