He flops at rest stops
hid by other sleeping truckers.
He likes the loneliness
as the cab windows gradually mist over
with smokey stars.
Rolling on,
cities of light flare upwards
and beneath them
are the unseen, the dead eyed
that hide under a metro-glare.
Amarillo, Detroit, Tacoma, Richmond,
places packed and stacked
with broken dreams and loose ends.
Just driving; hauling and honking.
No one looking.
Launderettes and liquor stores,
five finger fandangos in the back,
chicken wings and Jack D.
Atlantic City, Apalachicola,
soaking in the slipstream
while America looks somewhere else.
What are you watching America?
Sometimes he thinks
only the coyotes are paying attention.
Roads thread through his fingers.
The Great Lakes shimmer,
Rockies rear-up and ripple,
all those dust painted
played-out rural towns,
the roads are his tunnel
through both beauty and depredation.
Old men on roadside benches
stare unphased by his air horn blare'
as if he himself were an 18-wheeled
rolling exhibit of America itself,
yet no one looks long enough
to care.
starkness invading, picture windows view
the wake of an invisible house through
the maze of forest oaks becoming blue.
seizure of sure Winter eyes, long night’s coup.
of red foxes, no sightings but a twig
snapping, turns chilly heads, as moonlight wigs
out at the littered floor, nocturnal rig —
cacophony of coyotes, the dig.
11/27/2020
i used too
much baby
oil with the
lights turned
low but soft
music can
be heard as
Paul Simon
sings slip
sliding
away
The beautiful arks flashes
While molting metal slashes
Diving deep into my flesh
I reach for a much needed breath
As poisonous fumes fill my lungs
A welders passion threw my veins it runs
So i reach down deep for i em a welder i will not retreat
I've gained my respect
Standpipe conductors wellheads 7018 i inject
Welding all day and under a full moon light
I send a prayer that lord gives me the might
Weeks months away from home
Hearing little voices only threw a phone
I promised to make a better life for y'all
I em a Texas rig welder I'm ready for any rig call
Considering all the do's and don't's
in any given day
To savor all the in's and out's
in every special way
While messing with the up's and down's
to wait for them to bloom
Incorporating low's and high's
expecting them too soon
The stress of all the when's and how's
to labour for the love
The purpose of the then's and now's
to see push come to shove
For all the sense of why's and where's
connecting as they lie
The sureness of the if's and but's
to know there is no 'try'
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