Elevators, like great oaks <br />rise into the evening, and when they descend <br />you hardly know yourself. <br /> All night <br />the fair, shadowed cab light <br />shone on the trucker's face. If only <br />he had learned to think like that! <br /> <br />Some extremes, but much benign lack of interest, <br />for which the heart gradually opens. <br />... patiently working, bringing cattle <br /> <br />from Denver, sorghum, oats, <br />butter, wheat and pigs from the Midwest, <br />steel bars, the body <br /> <br />with its different nightly smells ... <br />He wanted to walk the length of Kansas. <br />The years had not even been difficult, <br /> <br />but like the stars <br />he watched from the speeding cab, <br />spaced unevenly ... <br />so many particular events.<br /><br />Jon Anderson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-trucker/
