On the surface, this is a three-line remark about driving: the tires are worn, and the car can barely grip the road. Anyone who has felt a car slide on ice or wet pavement will recognize the small jolt of fear that comes with it. The speaker is stating a plain fact, and the plainness is part of the effect.
But the lines invite a second reading. Traction is what lets us move forward with control, so losing it can stand for something bigger: feeling unsteady, stuck, or unable to make any real progress in life. The poem never says this outright. Judging by how short and bare it is, the speaker may be understating a larger worry, the way people sometimes mention a small problem when something heavier is on their mind.
The mood is tense and uneasy, but also quiet. The line breaks slow us down, so each phrase lands like a small slip. There's no rescue and no conclusion, which leaves us in that precarious moment.