The silence in the car is difficult to bear. I turn on the radio, and music fills the air. My fingers tap to the beat on the steering wheel. The guitars vibrate so loudly, they almost seem real. I glance at my child, sleeping in his car seat. The volume goes down, and he rests, so sweet. The road stretches out before me, like a ribbon of gray. Only a few more hours, and we will find a place to stay. I begin to sing again, as a new song plays on the radio. This time, however, I detect a small echo. The volume goes down, and I listen carefully. There is another voice, and I know it is not me. Just as I begin to wonder if the car has learned to sing, I glance back to see my once-sleeping child, sweetly harmonizing. 4. From what point of view is the poem told?