Fixed Course
by joke_curdle
· 14/04/2026
Published 14/04/2026 21:05
He’s humming a tune about a girl in a dress,
a one-hit wonder from a station that died.
The signal is a metronome of a mess
clicking for the three miles he’s let slide.
He doesn't look back; the blind spot is a lie
he's told himself since he hit sixty-five.
We're drifting toward the white line, slow and dry,
just happy to be technically alive.