Three hours and twelve minutes to go

Three hours and twelve minutes to go,

then eleven, then fourteen again.

The traffic is heavy, the clouds are low,

washing the road in a gray stain.

The lawyer on the billboard looks down,

pointing a finger at the double line.

Halfway between my life and her town,

where the clock starts to untwine.

The coffee in the plastic cup

is shaking with the engine’s up,

I’m not sure I want to show up

or turn the car around on this street.