I've learned to slow down on the road
so the world beside me
does not pass by
with watercolor blur

I've learned it's okay to stop
and let the energy
trickled away by travel
fill up again to the brim

When I'm weary of lashing wind
I take little known exits
down gravel covered lanes
and park where the dust settles

The small establishment next to me
has a splintered sign
smoothed by sun-filled gusts of grit
and it reads "The Dusty Lunchbox"

The main part of the restaurant
is the body of an old railroad car
the leftover carcass
of a forgotten ghost train

The musty air inside
is tanged with the palate of burgers
sizzling on an iron grill popping
like the sound of lips smacking

I shuffle down the aisle
like a passenger
the walls papered with banners
from faraway stations

A waitress stops by my booth
and hands me a menu
her round cheeks wine-stained
by a warm smile

Her strawberry hair
flecked with auburn and grey
sparkles dancing in amber beams
sliding through window blinds

My lunch arrives on a blue plate
a cheeseburger with lettuce
and a thick slice of tomato
held together with a toothpick

Not an ordinary toothpick
but one with a colored strip
of plastic tied in a bow
like I've won first prize at the fair

As I bite through layers
of red, yellow, and green
my tongue is simultaneously
seared and soothed

Juices spill onto my plate
that I sop with my home-cut fries
gulping sweetened iced tea
with a slice of lemon on the rim

I leave a hefty tip
beneath the empty, beaded glass
and pause by the door
for another wine-stained smile

Instead of racing down the road
I find myself ambling
in part because I feel restrained
by newfound strings

A part of me stayed behind
to remember how happy I was there
next time I pass by he'll tug those strings
and I will be happy again