In Which I Have Another Bad Car Trip

Westbound and down, the wrong time of the day,
And I was driving straight into the sun.
My windshield's imperfections made a spray
Of glare that 'twas opaque. I slowed our run
To just a crawl. 'Tis what I dread the most:
To have to drive at highway speeds when I
Can't see a thing; delinator posts
And faded striping slowly crawling by
As though it were a blizzard late at night.
The world shrank down to squeeze in on my car,
And ev'ry forward mile a sep'rate fight
Until I knew no longer just how far
Or near the next town was. Lost, there, in space
I struggled not to curse that lonely place.