On the Freeway
Between the myriad of advertisements
The radio doesn't rhyme
It celebrates, laments, describes,
But not every word is
So clearly designed
To fit together perfectly;
Not every tone aligned
The road blurs
Beneath the car
Like a spinning record
Around around around
Each time a different spot pinned down
By the revolving wheels
Each time a different ground
Wander far over
Unending planes of grey
Scarred by cracks and tar
The crimson-tainted orange hues
Of the receding sun
Piercing through the horizon;
Can’t see where you are
Sickeningly sweet fumes
Drifting like fog
Along the crowded lanes
Filling your lungs
Taking your breath away
Until a rising breeze quiets the dooms
Of idling too long
As the darkness rolls out from
Beyond the distant hills
From between the solemn trees
That stand witness along the red-lit road
The soft-edged neon spots that
Speckle the way for miles blur
And from the from the woods'
Long grass resounds
Cricket trills
Gas station
After gas station
Each more vacant than the last,
Their signs a glowing hand held up
Indifferently over the blackening sky
Not in greeting, but notification
Of fuel pumps and coffee
To whoever is passing by
A meter on your dashboard blinks
You look at the time
1:02 AM
Glowing white numbers
Searing into your aching eyes
You blink
And blink again
Sometime, long ago, you thought
About stopping for the night
About taking a break
But the wheels keep rolling
And you keep going
Along the endless freeway
Into the dark