Pencil character sketches drawn on napkins,
greasy finger prints on doorhandles.
with the smell of diesel
in the vest of the stations attendant,
he moves in short quick motions
communicating with his hands.
while over at pump three
the silhuette of a large truck driver
clumsely and irreverent slips through
the cold night air muttering something
about the frieghtline gravel snow packs up north.
his mile markered memory worn thin
like his wallet he pulls out
to pay for the coffee
or arsenic, cup o joe, black jonny....
as off in the distance juan valdez
slowly moves along the highways
shoulder just outside of the lengthy
headlights pallid grasp,
pale as a ghost.... his mule speaking fluent japanese.
nathan martin
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/black-coffee-country/
