The lights go on as the sun goes down.

Moon glares on the silver street signs,

The stars shine bright above the boulevard,

Clouds ready to ambush.

Only six of the dozen gallons from the station,

Tank half full from poor organization.

Waited too long,

Too much.

One week passed too fast,

He can’t catch up.

He will get it done.

With ambition to reach the end,

No time for fun.

Pedal to mat, moving up the surface streets,

Car suffering, groaning in fatigue.

Exhaust escapes again, invading the eye’s lake.

Just one stretch more,

That far he will make.

But the car moves in molasses as the meter moves miserably down.

He dozes off a mile from the bed, in his thoughts he will drown.

Clouds rush in, and stars’ shine die out.

In his deep slumber, the mind begins to sprout.

He dreams of a day with the meter at the top,

Knowing full well this cycle won’t stop.