I’m sitting in a reststop bathroom
waiting for the American Dream to wash its goddamn hands.
toe-tappin’
arms crossed
tired.
Long drive.
It’s been a long fucking drive,
andyoucanhurryitupjustalittle, don’t ya think?
suds ‘n scrubs ‘n suds some more.
every agonizing second crawls
skin-deep
{beautiful}
i’m tired
of bein’ so gruff
found i need it
‘specially with Dream
likes to beat me
to the punch
otherwise.
now come on, dammit
ain’t gonna make St. Louis
by sunup
at this rate.
you ain’t gonna wash that off your hands
don’t know why you’re tryin’.
Dream leads the way outside,
packin’ a Marboro
fire-flickin’ a Bic
dressed up in a Micky Mouse,
but it was probably a knockoff.
Things happen.
‘n by starlight it’s so goddamn beautiful.
Trailin’ fingers through air-currents
as we slide ‘long empty high-way,
hair whippin’ up in its face.
as we get back into the car,
trucker catches my eye
nods at dream.
I nod back.
Trucker sakes his head,
bettin’ he was hopin’ to see
Dream at the end of his shift.
But I’ve got a shovel in the back,
and them Ozark forests go on forever.
