I told everyone at the table that the bridge

I told everyone at the table that the bridge

was built in sixty-two. I was loud about it.

I saw the way you looked at your phone,

the quiet slide of your thumb as you checked.

I’m sitting in the driveway now at 9:14 PM.

The dashboard is glowing red, a small digital sun

in a car that smells like old fries and pride.

I missed the exit on the way back

just so I could be alone with being wrong

for a few more miles.