Small people in large trucks

No one-lane roads in the suburbs

Monster truck driver Brad fixes his

Seatbelt to tightly wrap around the brisk smelly air

And nothing else because he’s a badass;

When Brad drives he really drives 

Passing through all the red lights

Getting the little kids in a hurry

He’s sure he’s the reason for the no trucks incoming

Signs because no neighborhood wants Brad

The small man with a small intestine

And a large truck to compensate

Of some Chevy make, his automobile got him

Ladies for sure and zero accidents without a belt

Except for once, when he stormed down the road

With heavy black metal blazing and windows missing

And crashed headstrong into a mail box containing

His heart, soul, and guts in a bundle disintegrated

Under the fiery fervor of a Chevy truck destroying it.

Small people in large trucks never mix, even when

They’re tall and in charge

Small wisdom, Small heart, Small size.

All in the same when they’re dead.

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highway superstar

highway2

Time tends to quicken when you least expect it to,
Like a car rushing on the highway, agile yet interruptive,
When an SUV crosses into your lane and you yell expletives
Harsh words your parents told you never to say,
But that was a long time ago, before you learned how to drive
Amidst the horns and muffled engines you feel strangely
Attracted to this speedy SUV and its uniqueness.
You kick the sedan into ignition and attempt to catch up,
Hoping to match the damn SUV’s path at the speed of light,
And the compact steel of the sedan sheds away gradually
From the trunk, the wind-shield wipers, the glass windows
With the more weight you lay on the gas pedal,
And if the whole sedan deteriorates and collapses
Under the pressure of gravity you’d be blissfully clueless.
In that wonderful moment time is rapidly short, and lags.
You cannot catch the uncatchable when
It’s hurling naturally at light speed and you’re
Struggling to reach 85 on the speedometer.
It’s difficult finding a silvery SUV during rush hour
Especially when it seems everyday is a constant hour of rushing
And traveling in fifty directions for the same silvery SUV
You saw yesterday, the day before, a week ago, last month,
That’s probably cut off many other sedans along its path
As it was passing you by happenstance on its way to work
Or to meet a special someone who never knew you existed.

Said

Said once in a tunnel below the city

We’re gonna make it out of here someday

Said twice by the riverbank in the wood

We’re gonna clean up this trash someday.

Said three times on the daily commute

We’re gonna take the bus instead someday

But I don’t see it ever being done.

Long Nights

night

Oh, there’s a long night up ahead, announces

The conductor as the train watches the

Last glimpse of light from the city

Dissipate behind our wake.

You know what I mean,

It’s one of those long nights in the darkness;

The kind of night that

Remembers every word you write, and

Every mistake and regret you had.

It remembers and it shouts it louder than

Your ears can take before bursting apart.

The train reminded me of the city,

But it felt eerie and mysteriously different.

Less outside noise, more inner contemplation.

I was writing a few thoughts down when

We hit a bump in the tracks.

The hanging lights shuddered and quaked,

On and off, on and off they flickered,

Startling the sleeping customers and

Amusing the man playing scales on a light

Acoustic guitar that never seemed to go out of tune.

We drove through the night without a thought

Of the darkness enveloping the steel of the train,

Still bounding through the desert,

The forest, the mountains, and the dusky, dead villages.

I remembered what it was like when home existed,

But tonight the train was my home, and tomorrow

The same train, headed somewhere else.

It’s going to be a long night, but the

Guitar and this pen will save me from my misery,

And the regrets consuming around us.