Reflector Strips

The clock on the dash says it’s two in the morning,

and the radio is mostly static and teeth.

I’ve been awake for thirty-six hours,

and my eyes are beginning to cheat.

The bridge expansion joints are rhythmic,

a thrumming heartbeat under the floor.

I’m watching the white lines pull me home

like a string leading back to the door.

The green glow of the dials is eerie,

reflecting in the glass of the side.

It looks like a passenger, quiet and pale,

just along for the long, lonely ride.

I’m a pilot of nothing but shadows

and the smell of old coffee and grease.

Just a man on a highway at midnight

searching for a few minutes of peace.