driving at six PM along an unmarked highway at the end of nowhere

you, deprecated,
your hands tucked like little fidgety starfish
under your stubby bare legs,
humming something irrelevant against
the low whir of the car, rubbery,
the thousand naked bees mating furiously in the engine.
the little pinpricks of salmon in the evening's blue;
our eyes burning holes into the freeway.
through cataracts, still seeing:
we, unidentified.