Low Signal

The garage is too quiet for a Friday.

I’ve been sitting in the driver’s seat

long enough for my legs to turn to wood,

that prickling, heavy heat of a limb gone numb.

The radio has lost the station.

It’s just the hiss now, the salt-and-pepper roar

of a signal that couldn't find its way

through the insulation and the brick.

It sounds like sand hitting a window.

It sounds like the space between my teeth

when I try to think of something to say.