The radio wheel clicks beneath your fingers
and silence follows.
This time it was something I said.
And you're not looking at me anymore.
Your eyes are fixed ahead.

Toward oncoming traffic
or maybe a bug,
guts across the glass, spread.
You're tuning out my apologies.
Your eyes are fixed ahead.

The gears beneath us churning
drive the distance in my head
the gap between the seats;
between us
seems to measure the greatest of lengths.
There's traffic in three lanes
and we're heading toward a mess
You say 'I love you."
But your eyes...
they stay fixed ahead.