Eschewing the air, we are up from Florida –
single-minded, our black engine hums
at 3000 r.p.m. Tires wail at seventy;
New Jersey seems forever over the curve.

On the map, our trajectory
is dotted with red-and-blue shields,
a red artery, pumping through the bodies
of so many states.

No one has time for scenery in this system,
when the focus is not where you are,
but where you’re going.
We course by Burger Kings, Motel 6’s,
the promise of gas, the hint of Wal-Mart.

Bent by destinations, we push speed limits
to illogical lengths,
slashing through the Carolinas,
stopping only when the needs arise –
Smithfield by nine,
Wilson by nine-thirty.

Tonight there’s a room
at the Comfort Inn in Rocky Mount
with our name on it.

11/11/2002

Posted on 11/11/2002
Copyright © 2026 Bruce W Niedt