Miles Behind

The velour seat, a worn-out map

of crumbs and spilled soda pop.

The window glass, a hazy trap

where passing fields would stop

and start again.

My knees pressed into the backrest,

the space felt close and tight.

Watching the world do its endless test

against the fading light.

The engine’s drone, a low, flat sound,

a landscape I couldn’t hold.

Just miles and miles of common ground,

a story left untold.