180 Miles

The digital map says three hours

if I take the bypass and don't stop.

Her voice on the machine

sounded thin, like a wire

pulled too tight across the county line.

I count the exits in my head—

the one with the rusted silo,

the one where the radio goes to static

and the preacher starts yelling

about a fire I can't see.

The dashboard clock is four minutes fast.

I keep it that way to feel

like I’m gaining ground on the afternoon,

even as the gas stations blur

into a long, brown ribbon of nowhere.

She is waiting by a window

I haven't looked through in a year.