Fog swirled around
the big Chevy, sending
chunks of brown perspiration
through the defrost
onto the laps of three
travelers heading for Colorado.

It promised a reprieve from
a fast food job for one,
for another
it was a perforation
machine
in a bindery
and the
last was sponging money from
his grandmother and just needed
to get way from the pressure for
awhile.

Big logs of sod flew up onto
the hood as #1 drifted into the
ditch, catching dirt clods in
the factory standard suspension.

Billboards weren't selling the good life
tonight, just ghostly yellow light
beckoned to #2 in hopes that a
pie shop would be open, that
they could pull over, that they could
release the tension riding in their
backs.

The travelers had vied for the back roads

more scenery, less traffic.

The reasons dried up
as quickly as the landscapes charm,
all ending at the hood of the car.

Just gray to look at and little towns that sold
nothing after 8.

So the Chevy continued to roll,
dodging in and out of the fog,
its occupants
not knowing the state that they
were currently in.

Just the fog

Deep thick tendrils
of humidity slapping against
windshield wipers that had
almost given up their Michelin ghost.

Rubber rubbing glass
rubber holding the road
hands clutching the wheel
heading for Manitu Springs.

#3 slept on, to much action
for an opportunistic narcoleptic.

#2 blindly searched the road
in front of the car.

#1 looked for the cigarette that
just blew back in the window.