On the Drive Home

By: Grace Wilcox

white road lines merging under
our worn out tires,
taking us away
the radio vibrates with
noise over the homeless 
man on the curb,
boombox over stereo
used to be versions of me
over what we’re left with
maybe he wants to get hit
i thought
maybe i want to
do not enter warning signs
what happens when you do?
if only it warned me
about you.