just because it sounds romantic doesn’t mean there’s any love in it
vases hold flowers but not emotions
they seep through cracks onto old wooden tables
shaky-unstable legs giving way to the creepings of old age
dripping lost mauve on the floor
and the emotions now evaporated with the passage of time
the time has passed like a freight train on its way to detroit
chicago st.louis or all the way to frisco
now long gone and rumbling by the golden gate
sounds of passing traffic on the not so far interstate
transporters, broke trucks, tankers, flatbeds
all humming good night as they pass with their red lights
and the driver jacked up on coffee so he can drive all night
when there aren’t so many cars in the way
snowbirds making their way down to florida
their home in st. pete or sarasota or points south
living what they think is the good life
the trucker thinks he has a good life
away from people shut up in his cab slash office
country music twanging from the radio
when he drops that load, he’s got another heading back
after a short rest and a greasy hamburger and fries
he’s got a 1 a.m. all the way to colorado where he calls home
among the pikes and the peaks
and the snow covered highways lined with tracks
of tires and tears
