Mile Marker

The dash is too bright.

Toxic green numbers biting my eyes.

The group chat is a swarm of blue bubbles,

a dozen versions of 'where are you'

that I don’t want to answer.

I pulled over on the gravel shoulder.

The yellow line on the asphalt is shaking

from the wind of the semi-trucks.

I’m just sitting here.

I have no excuse for being this late

other than the weight of the steering wheel.