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