Scale

The screen on the dash went black,

so I dug under the spare tire for the atlas.

It smelled like damp rubber and the year 2012.

I was looking for the back way to the clinic,

the one that avoids the main bridge.

At the state line, the paper has finally given up.

There is a white, fuzzy hole where the folds

have rubbed together for a decade.

A whole town has been turned into lint.

I put my finger in the gap and felt the trunk’s cold metal.