Hand me the map, you say as you reach
for the glove compartment.
Construction,
and we take a detour home.
And because
I am too slow for your patience, you push
my palm back.
What you don’t know:
I will break our engagement.
How you left
your dating profile logged on
before bed,
as if to tell me the moon
we slept under was a sand dollar
hanging by a thread.