The drive home

The drive home made all the more slow by the broken antenna. One station all that comes in. I-95. Classic rock. "Two for Tuesday." Would've prayed to God to let the second Rush song be "Working Man" if I thought it would've helped. Instead I get "Subdivisions." Turn the volume down. Down, down, through the construction, route 7. Entering New Milford from the south, widened now to four lanes, can cruise along at 55, 60. Not bad. So they had to knock down some trees. Down, down, to the flashing lights, through the orange-and-white barrels, road workers in the overtime night. Down, down, this descent of autumn. That Williams could find, in his descent of winter, elation in his own underwear. Boxers or briefs, I don't suppose we know. I'll find elation when I shake this cough. My car is small amid the construction sea. No plate on the front. Faded light of the dash. Half a tank a gas. No stars. No moon. No sky.