Silenced Chorus

The radio cracked its way through thick air—

a tape, melting under the sun, stuck somewhere in the past.

I hit eject before the chorus could spill,

but each line lurked, heavy, like smoke trapped in the dead glove box.

The melody caught in my chest, dragging bruises along ribs

I thought had healed, pressed in by cracked plastic and hot leather.

I wanted to crawl out of that old car’s memory,

where nothing changes but the noise that pounds inside.

So I turned it off,

watched the dial spin slow,

and let silence swallow the sharp edges

that song left behind.