"peterbilt" poems
Truck Stop Restroom Cologne
Denny’s / Flying J, Orange, Texas
Check out the boom-chick in the parking lot -
Love and diesel fumes are in the air.
Tattoos and cigarettes, oh, man, she’s hot!
Industrial peroxide tints her hair
Like rainbows in a toxic fuel-oil spill.
Her waist is a rockin’ forty-four,
A pavement Venus posed before the grill
Of a Peterbilt outside the truckers’ store.
How can the lovestruck swain lure her to his cab?
Persuade her to give him her innocent all?
A ripped-shirt display of a manly ab?
Wait - what’s that machine on the restroom wall?
Cool dude, you’ll never have to truck alone
If you scent yourself with restroom cologne.
Oct 6, 2017
Oct 6, 2017 at 8:58 PM UTC
It's crossed my mind.
Perhaps more often than I'd like to admit.
The thought of stepping through the door.
If for no other reason than to see what lies on the other side.
It's a two lane road.
The cars are travelling in opposite directions.
Just gotta swerve five feet to the left when you see the next Peterbilt.
Two objects travelling at sixty.
Meeting head on.
To know in an instant what awaits a tortured soul.
Would you remember to put the silver on my eyes?
For the ferryman.
These thoughts aren't birthed by sadness.
It's more of a "I'm bored. What's over here?" feeling.
One day.
One day the Call will shout over the other voices.
The ones that say "what about?"
I can step off into nothing.
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 10:23 PM UTC