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

rushing off

going somewhere

showing something

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?


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