Pencil character sketches drawn on napkins, <br /> greasy finger prints on doorhandles. <br /> with the smell of diesel <br /> in the vest of the stations attendant, <br /> he moves in short quick motions <br /> communicating with his hands. <br /> <br /> while over at pump three <br /> the silhuette of a large truck driver <br /> clumsely and irreverent slips through <br /> the cold night air muttering something <br /> about the frieghtline gravel snow packs up north. <br /> <br /> his mile markered memory worn thin <br /> like his wallet he pulls out <br /> to pay for the coffee <br /> or arsenic, cup o joe, black jonny.... <br /> <br /> as off in the distance juan valdez <br /> slowly moves along the highways <br /> shoulder just outside of the lengthy <br /> headlights pallid grasp, <br /> pale as a ghost.... his mule speaking fluent japanese.<br /><br />nathan martin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/black-coffee-country/
