in an apartment
on a country road
not far from the interstate.
A steady monotonous flow
of unknown souls
eastbound westbound
passing each night
in cars and rigs
following one another
across the icy flats
like slow tracers
headlights passing
tail-lights leaving
24/7 the same sounds
hypnotizing the night.
Imagine these
opposite processions
across a continent.
How many workers
in cities like
Detroit and Cleveland
the untold number
of hours
of rawboned labor
to keep the line moving
from coast to coast?
A string of metal
and humanity
carrying ruptured lives
of truckers and lovers
by the millions
bisecting
the dark landscape
a constant
carbon-burning murmur.
Each passing night
an accumulation of things
we cant quite get over.
[+]
Barry Yeoman was educated at Bowling Green
State Univ., The Univ. of Cincinnati, and
The McGregor School of Antioch Univ.,
in creative writing, world classics, and the
humanities. He is originally from Springfield,
Ohio and lives currently in London, Ohio.
His work has appeared, or is forthcoming
in Red Booth Review, Futures Trading,
Danse Macabre, Harbinger Asylum,
Red Fez and The Wayfarer.
