John Grey writes

ON MY WAY THROUGH

I'm on a flat,

endless Nebraska road

at sundown.

I pass silos,

cruise through names on a map

that are no place in reality.

Beside me, run parallel

flat, endless Nebraska train tracks.

I've been driving all day

and am on the lookout

for a motel

and a restaurant.

I'm beginning to regret my decision

to cross the country by car.

I find a cheap place

to rest my body.

The bed's comfy enough.

And then another place,

equally cheap,

to fill my stomach.

I keep one eye

on the ones who live here permanently

the motel clerk,

the waitress,

the other diners.

They remind me of silos,

names on a map

that are no place in reality

and railways lines.

I spend the night

eating and sleeping

like I'm still at the wheel.