Road

The first highway minute
begins near the end of her day,
a fading sun throwing
its best salute to the departing.

It’s not that she’s leaving nothing behind,
but the fields by the side of the road,
the farmhouses and dancehalls,
the singlewides and ranches,
the community of just enough
has given all it can,
and the promise of the road
has been growing stronger in her head
for longer than she can remember.

In a snap decision,
there was no time for goodbyes,
and that is probably for the best;
she needed no prying platitudes,
no reasons to stay.

She’s got a trucker’s atlas,
a thermos of strong black coffee,
and enough cash to get her somewhere.

The sinking sun reflects off the side mirror
in the finite encompassment of all those yesterdays,
but in the cracked promise of the highway ahead
she can see the future.