Tree by tree
Shadow by shadow
My palm surfing the air currents
out the passenger window.
The radio cuts out, in and out,
Static over some classic rock station.
Sky turning grey,
Falling, sinking,
Entombing the distance in fog.
Grey road, grey sky, grey world
Black naked trees
stabbing upward
like accusatory teeth –
Or stakes
ready to impale.
The speakers scream their static
Hiss and spit their horror
And I look across at his face
Sharp in profile as the trees
fall away.
He turns
and –
finally –
Meets my eyes.
Sky-grey.
He pulls the wheel
Sharp
and sends us off the bridge.