Warsaw
coasting southeast down I-40
I was waking up from groggy backseat dreams
when I saw this 18-wheeled beast
a tarnished white truck out of Warsaw, IL
I thought of the Poles first and how
the driver could be hauling kielbasa
to some fried food Epicurians
picking up some speed to pass
poetry books weighing down my lap
I clenched my fist and angled my elbow
bobbed it up and down with force but
the driver stayed straight-sighted, no honk
heeded to the trucker code
this wasn't an emergency, just a curious kid
thinking back, I never saw his face
he rode open window with his left arm out
wind-kissed and faded fabric
a regular Joe on a mission to
truck stops with apple pie and pay phones
then on to deliver those tasty
Polish sausages to Bohemians and rednecks
thinking back, I never saw his face
but he wanted to escape that town
he'd had his taste of Warsaw and
Warsaw was raW
No comments:
Post a Comment