Staying the Course

The rusted truck
bounces along
10 miles under the speed,
in case the dial's broke,
its right-turn signal blinking
for the last 83 miles.

For two hours, now
my brother's gnarled hands
have gripped their 10 and 2 O'clock stations,
jerking the wheel
over every roll in the rut.

Shoulders round
in concentration,
his eyes fix
on the black ribbon
tethering his brain.


©2005 catnapping