They have always been like giants to me
eager to squash and munch and bellow
but as I hush the voices of NPR
and my eyes scan the hills and knobs
of this great winding mess called I-65
as I duck and dodge these monsters
I am struck with wonder:
What’s in all those semis?
I mean, where are they going?
Where is it all coming from?
Tearing through their metal sides
I see their wonderful secrets
one semi is full of piñatas
the shape of crosses
stuffed with expired Easter candy
the other has live monkeys
no cages and no rules
one contains a discothèque
pulsing with the sweat of teenagers
who fall as one at every pothole
another has piles of wax statues
crude, colorful imitations of the Greek masters
all falling short of their god’s glory
one hosts twenty-six princesses, all sitting in front of mirrors
putting on lipstick and wiping it off again
unable to screw their face just right
the other has a single pea under a pillow
blissful and still as he could be
there we all were
hiding most of it
after all that dreaming
I felt so transparent and boring
with my non-tented windows
and my silver 2006 Corolla
I wondered what hidden things
these semis might find in me?
What dreams has the dreamer
failed to see? What dances
under my hood?
What lies asleep in my trunk
coughing and crying
hoping and waiting
even by these monsters
to be seen?