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