Ryan Sheeler Poet

Mile Marker 114

2:30 in the morning 
All normal people are asleep 
Raining down in South Dakota 
Driving up from I-35

Miles of Midwestern highway 
Cornfields connecting towns 
A lonely asphalt signature 
Writing lines of indifference 

Telling stories through the voice of 
Those who’ve driven all those cold and lonely miles 
So much of our own stories 
Travel on these stretches of grayish, cracked pavement 

Roads are meant to eventually 
Connect one to another 
Miles along dusty roads 
Lost and found passing by 
Yet another gas station’s sunset 

One little green sign with a number 
“you are here” 
For all of about a second 
Passing by again 

Goodbye seems all at once 
Maybe not quite the right word to say 
Perhaps that’s what it means to 
Drive thousands of miles 
And never really leave home 

Thank you to the road 
Ashes to gravel, dust to the fields 
Writing lines of 
Children’s tarnished dreams 

Up in the distance again… 

One little green sign with a number 
“you are here” 
For all of about a second 
Passing by again

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