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Thursday, January 19, 2023

rigs in the night


by walter w johnson iii




the moon shines through the trees

the stars look down on the highway

the long dark highway

and the big rigs

the big rigs rolling

carrying roast beef for arby’s sandwiches to indianapolis

and buns for big macs to jacksonville florida

and eggs for breakfast sandwiches for dunkin donuts to buffalo new york

and bandaids and deodorant to cvs’s in dallas

and chicken wings to popeyes in salt lake city

and coffee grounds to winchell’s donuts in las vegas

and stacks of people magazine to milwaukee

and swanson’s tv dinners to butte montana

and milky way candy bars to juneau alaska

all these things to distribution centers lit up in the american night

to be delivered in the morning to apartments and condos and gated communities and retritement homes all over this geat land

you get the picture

we are safe now

never again to cross a mountain in a smowstorm

or cling to a raft overturned on a raging river

or get eaten by a bear

or bitten by a rattlesnake or a stonefish or a wolverine

but sometimes

in the dead of night

after a long day of bingewatching a new miniseries about the royal families of intergalactic empires

or a new version of dracula or winnie the pooh or little women

i lie down and close my eyes

and think i can hear the big rigs

the big rigs humming

humming down the dark highways

alone

in the wind and rain



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