The Truck Driver

September 23, 2007
By Farah Momen, Congers, NY

Past fickle fields
of cursing kids
he roamed,
yearning
to unearth some nest;
every sign
was distorted,
and rebuffed
his sagging eyes.
He flew down the streets
And eternal highways of gray
to pass the time;
he stopped
to watched the sun
creep up
where it would never
descend.


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