Blind Spot

The truck behind me was much too close,

its high beams washing out the dash.

I tried to adjust the glass to the coast

before the whole thing turned to a crash.

There’s a jagged crack across the face

of the mirror glued to the roof.

It splits my eyes in a narrow space,

offering a double-edged proof.

I didn’t recognize the person there,

bisected by silver and grit.

A man with a hard and hollow stare

waiting for the world to quit.