I’d be careful, carrying those secure, refrigerated, 
 code locked boxes in the trunk, the dry ice filled to the brim, 
 I’d pretend I was in the movie Mad Max. 
  
  
 I’d look out for spies, for bio terrorists, for anarchists. I’d wear hard clothes, 
 not leather but fake leather. I’d wear sunglasses 
 but look non-descript. Maybe a scrunchie. No lipstick. 
  
  
 I’d tell people I was going to visit a family member, 
 that the Wifi signal wasn’t great; I might be off the grid for a bit. 
 I’d think about how I’d spend my cash from this job. 
  
  
 How I’d take that group camping trip in Yosemite, 
 take a raft down some rapids on that last day, 
 take a pleasing group photo. I’d be such a good tour member. 
  
  
 I’d be polite and helpful. Do you need help pounding your tent 
 stakes into the ground? Yeah, this soil *is* rocky. 
  
  
 As I’d drive into rural areas of Nebraska, Kansas, and Iowa, 
 surrounded by MAGA signs, I’d smile and not speed. 
 No tickets. I’d be a courteous driver. 
 I wouldn’t stare at the trucks with the big flags. 
  
  
 I wouldn’t stare at the GUN store signs. 
 I’d focus on meeting my timeline, on getting all of the vaccines 
 to the Dr’s offices on time. 
  
  
 I’d stay focused, dreaming of my camping trip: staring at gargantuan Sequoia trees 
 that explode their branches into the blue, blue sky 
  
 and have no limits, no fear, no death.