Reflections against

a black window

at night

mini-cosmos

of the truck

stop diner

reverses itself,

and the world

is forever

changed as long

as blank stares

continue to

watch.

 

A

void of

strange, uneasy

silence permeates

the dimly-lit,

sparsely populated

eatery a

refuge an oasis

for road-weary

truck jockeys.

 

If

a trucker is lucky,

he eats and

talks with

someone he knows.

If not,

he then sits

within muted

doldrums

introspective as to

just how weary

he is

how lonely

he is.

 

Back aching,

eyes burning

tired feeling

lousy

so damned

tired

eight hundred

miles done

seven fifty

to go.

 

What

a way to have

to eat supper

like sitting

in a grave

yard.

 

Lights

so damn low

they could put

you to sleep

a never-waking

sleep.

 

Damn!

Cant even

read the paper

in this light!

 

Slow-moving

waitress slower

moving cook.

What's to eat?

Nothing new

same dirty

old

menu

same

tattered bill of

fare.

If

glorious titles could

be eaten as written,

then wed all

get fat on hyperbole

and plasticized

paper instead

of getting indigestion

on what's called

chefs surprise!

 

Waitress spends

ten minutes talking

with faceless

body hunched over

a table at

what seems

to be

the other end

of the

world.

She

listens

as if it were a

church

confession.

She

interjects

a word or

two

pauses,

nods scratches

her head

with

an orange-

colored

pencil

throws you a glance;

catching

the glower on your

face as your

eyes

urgently communicate,

 

Come on, come on!

I want

to order!

Come on, come on

I've got to get

out of here some

time

tonight!

Damn!

How one can come

to hate

these places!

 

Late night just

undercurrent murmurs

come from the

resident night people.

Outside rain

beginning as drops

offer their slanted

rhythm against

blackened windows.

 

Rain melody joined

by a continual

chorus of baritone

droning diesel engines

humming in never-

ending sub-harmonics.

 

Big engines

powerful engines,

movers of body

nutrients over the

artery system

of a dynamic

breathing

giant.

 

The

diesel lions never

stop their

purring lulls you

into a daze a

staring into the

black void that

exists on the

other side of

the windows where

rain has changed

all reflections

and

night lights

into gruesome,

morose

grimaces.

 

You

are drawn

into a

hypnotic trance

as

your eyes

dart

back and forth --

focusing on

reflections that change

what's inside to

an opposite world

then

back

outside

where glowing

lights on the trucks

resemble

a convention of

technicolor

fireflies.

 

What will it be

tonight? Miss

Waitress has finally

come through. By

some sort of

rote a

cheeseburger,

fries and a vanilla

shake find

their way

from your

mouth and onto hastily-

scribbled

check.

The eyes

remain

on windows other side,

watching

changing night

shapes come

and go.

 

New

truck arrives! Big!

A chrome castle

on wheels

dressed with various

antennae and

at least

a

thousand

blazing trim

lights.

 

Before,

only clanking

dishes

from a somewhere

kept-hidden

kitchen

punctuated the

drones and

the

moans.

 

Enter! (Oh, please do Enter!)

The

Trumpet Voice!

Driver (Big!)

swaggering

Ruler of the

eighteen-wheel world!

 

Coffee, Ruby! Ah,

Miss Waitress does

have a name.

 

How ya doin', handsome?!

Homage paid

Kings happy.

May be

rough gruff but

the graveyard

now boasts electric neon

tombstones

and

resident

corpses regain

their pulses

as

the

messiah King feeds

the jukebox.

Life comes,

oblivion forestalled!

 

 

Burger tastes

adequate. Appetite

rebounding

eavesdropping on

King

trucker.

He

tells good

stories.

He

puts moves

on Ruby

(high point of her

day).

 

King-speak salty

but not

obscene.

(Fine art, that.)

 

Milk shake

good wish more for the

money.

 

Kings voice brazen

like heavy stainless

steel trim

splattered on diners

walls.

Slit in

steel

spits out

hot food for

 

slit in

Kings

face

which spits out

steely barbs

called

laughter

one-liners

mock put-downs

good-natured

story-telling

and

opinion.

 

What kind of

pie, Ruby? asks you

Apple! offered

with a glare

How dare

you?!

I

Don't know you, Miss Waitress

says

with eyes of heated

offence.

First name

for friends only!

Away

in stilted huff!

 

Pie

appears, but

served with slight

grin of

forgiveness. Ah!

Acceptance!

(Never

zap a

customer

before

tip leaving.

Miss

Waitress knows.)

 

Again,

eyes drift to windows.

Reflections

again

capture

thoughts.

 

Notice yourself

notice

yourself. Head

moves to

give orientation in

night mirror.

Strange

thing to do

not unique to

you, though.

Thoughts bound

back.

Pay

the

check get

the hell

out of here!

 

Body's set up

with stiffness

time to move on

time

to rejoin world

of the living.

 

Outside,

the

diesel-lions still

purring the

light still glowing

about their cabs

diesel-lions lying,

ready

to pounce

upon drivers command.

 

On

the outside, the

diner, too, glows

neon melting the

night.

While on the inside,

 

(King trucker

since departed),

 

the

huddled the

faceless

sit and

stare at empty

reflections

found only at

a

truck stop

diner.

 

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