Road Song

this late, even the interstate
is quiet.
i can hear, through the open window,
the low, steady growl
of the occasional semi truck
the high, slick whine of a car rushing past
taking advantage of the hour
to slip one past the five-oh
on the way to wherever it is
people go
while the rest of the world is asleep.
the motorcycles always sound angry
and the rv's, pulling compact cars, loaded up with bicycles
and beach umbrellas
are tired
and just want to go home.

everything sounds far away
muffled, somehow
through the filter of
things that i can't say
that wear the heart down
and burn your soul
black and bruised.

i slept in a car wash, once
in a small town
after someone i trusted
let me down.

that was less lonely
than this.