There is this spot, what was surely a vibrant truck stop once, that I pass in my to an fro’s in my new commute along the NY State Thruway. It sits vacant, boarded, graffitied, among all the other alive spots I pass where you can grab some gas, a bit of shut-eye or maybe a bite to eat.
An anomaly
A dead spot
.
Exit 21B
It was raining dogs and devils
a night as thick as pitch but there was light …
Exit 21B
a promise of respite from the drive
that took so long to not quite survive
just yet
our destination
.
it shone, shimmered, sparkled,
harkened
Exit 21B
brighting our way
with promise
“Oh, that’s a place we could stay”
in this dark and stormy cliché
.
Truckers drank coffee at a counter
ogling Mary’s offers
to refill a cup before return to their trucks
dreaming in back bed sleep cabs
of another mug
.
We shook off the rain
just a wet stain
at our feet
in a puddle
.
Do you have a room,
to escape soon now this horrid swoon
of weather?
.
Of course, just sign here Sir
.
There were tables of chance
to win without even a glance
it was easy
night was day
peasy
.
There were family and friends left to the wayside
justified
besides who are they
really?
.
We sang in bright neon lights
our day’s night might
wonder how we could have been so lucky to have lost our way
in a night dark as stark
to find this haven
Exit 21B
.
When we woke we stood to shake off the yoke
of another day’s side step
then just to skip stop to our next next
to the coast
but exit 21B made us stay
.
We are here today
boarded up behind wood nailed windows
long dead highway signs
long dead neon
long dead Mary
to fill a cup a mug
of coffee
for trucker dreams
the coast always so far away
it seems
now
at exit 21B
frankenberrysattic.com 