He watches the world pass by
as streetlights periodically flood
the inside of his cab with the orange
glow of the buzzing arc sodium bulbs.

Everything is painted lines
on wet asphalt and the streaks
that tiny beads of water make
as rain splatters the windshield.

Tones of exhaust and the RPM
of the engine vibrate within him
as the tachometer races back and
forth between each changing gear.

When he isn't busy working the clutch
he likes to steer with his knees, and
reaches his hands outward, stretching
the sore muscles of his arms and neck.

The night is bountiful with subtle gifts
of empty highways and a full moon
in a cloudless sky that hovers above
the horizon like an absconded balloon.

Sometimes life makes sense and it's
times like this that he can begin to
add everything up into a simple sum
of sensory input, emotion, & memory.

Sometimes life is a singularity to each
within their own mind, and other
times it seems a broad umbrella that
covers us all equally with similarities.

Sometimes life is as easy as keeping
on trucking down an empty road in
the middle of the night. He does his
best to remember this.