He hears the blurb on the radio,
in one of those sections that promises
interesting news after the adds for running shoes
and businesses that will provide a resting
place for the deceased underwater
for a nominal and negotiable fee.
Barstow, Brawley and then other anonymous towns
lay before him
on this road that eventually connects
to the refreshing blue Pacific.
Last night a quaint desert
a waitress with a touch of Lesley Ann Warren
an overweight man in a suit at the billiard table in the back
a family of four at a table
the father reading the newspaper
the mother staring into her mirror.
He has pulled up in a rest stop,
it is evening and he seems to be alone.
The radio talks about the daily news
and how the market is responding,
the new building for the homeless
and the man on the freeway.
We are all freeways in the dream he thinks
remembering the care he took with the onramps
and the process of the traffic
maintaining a pace to enter the exits
and pulls up to the cafe
he was at last night.
Just a table in a cafe with an endless floor
and one child.
And then the driver from the new truck stop
appears in the dream
is telling his story again,
vans filling the parking spaces -
He told me he couldn't do it
Yes you can I said, yes you can
The man in the dream points across
the empty roads to a barren field
My feets moved me fast and when I turned
he was just standing there