Dad’s grip on the wheel

The radio hums

static—father’s hands clench tight

knuckles white, cracked windshield

blurs city lights like spilled wine.

Muttered curses slip

between shifting gears,

wrong turns slicing silence,

a road unspooling into frustration.

His eyes dart—navigation app

laughs back at him

like a stranger lost too long,

the night drives deep inside the hum of us.