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

a father

a mother

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

just standing