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Does the Highway Ever Sleep?

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Does the highway ever sleep?
In the dark of my bedroom, the face reads
It’s a Tuesday night.
(My mother always told me to be in bed by
ten-eleven on a Tuesday night.)
The window has been flung wide and the
chorus of crickets caresses the evening air.
Peepers sing to the stars after a full day’s rest,
but though the cars have been grumbling just as long,
they show no signs of stopping, and the moon is high.
It doesn’t seem to sleep.
So I wonder…
Does the highway ever dream?
I wonder if Morpheus will sooth the high road…
maybe by eleven or twelve?
But, I must confess, despite parental advice,
I have allowed Rowling and Tolkien to
take me to twelve before.
(Even if it was a school night.)
Ergo, I can hardly expect this restless beast
to curl up by the stroke of midnight.
And yet, I make it a habit on Tuesday nights

to be deeply unconscious by one.
I, just an ordinary girl with an ordinary day ahead,

chock full of activities, can’t afford a nocturnal life.
So how can these executives
press that pedal to steer the highway
And I wonder…
does the highway have nightmares?
Is that the cause of eternal action?
Perhaps the highway is scared of night-

of the crickets



celestial shine

the uncertainty that comes with inillumination.
Perhaps it is that the highway and its cattle drivers-

the executives corporates and the rest-

are afraid of not having the world as a candle flame.
Perhaps the inability to see the stars as what they are

and instead as harbingers of monsters



frightens them.
And then I think of how sad this must be,

to live your life running from your fears

instead of facing them head on

and finding that you are



than you thought.

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