Midnight Run
By Ted L Glines
Eight hours up the road,
eighteen-wheeler -- heavy load,
from the meat-sheds down in Texas
to an Oklahoma nexus
where the beef will get its labels,
then to market -- and your tables.
Another guest -- checkin out,
and that's what he's about,
outta here at midnight,
open road in his headlights.
Another guest -- another friend,
we'll be seeing him again,
twice a week he makes this run,
midnight drivin toward the sun.
Know his kids by their first names,
know their grades and their games,
know his troubles with his wife,
know way too much about his life.
Cuppa coffee -- stifled yawn,
he'll be drivin way past dawn,
step outside -- wave him on,
diesel roars and he is gone.
Author's Notes: I need to thank Patty for the title. It did not have a title when I read the poem to her. She told me to name it "Midnight Run." I told her, "No, I prefer one-word titles." Well, she sweet-talked me, twisted my arm, threw me on the floor, stepped on my neck, and gave me other subtle hints that "Midnight Run" might be an okay title. Patty can be somewhat persuasive. Thank you, Patty.