He'd made good time since midnight
Highway 30 humming under eighteen wheels.
Another town, another off-ramp lizard
left red in tail lights.
She'd been a tasty brunette
whose hazel-flecked eyes roamed
as his grunts filled the cab. The
of sweat, the sticky release easily swiped
clean with lemon-scented towelettes
from the Flying J just across the state line.
Strawberry gloss was left sweet on his tongue
as she climbed out, twenty dollars
crumpled in the moist grip of her palm.
The sun's coming up. Seven hours
one more to go to the red brick,
blue front door, the wife's geraniums
blaze white in the dawn.