worms

it crept up way back when and now decided to indefinitely resurface. i can't blame it, it never really left me. as i sit here, in the middle of this concave bed i contemplate my fate, spilling my drink as i doze back off into slumber. as the sunlight seeps through every part in the blinds i squint to try and rummage through the bright to find a suitable middle ground my eyes can stand. showered, fed, shaved and clothed i get into that old Chevy, its seen nearly every state at some point in its prime the transmission was from Connecticut, the radiator and rust-free gas tank were from the south-west. the truck and i have a hard time starting on these freezing mid western mornings. partly cloudy, the dry snow blowing sideways without having the chance to stick to the ground before being lifted to a new destination. rust is eating at us again, salt is caked on our feet, slowly but surely were hunching over just a touch more and slowing down. numb feet connect with the unforgiving ground, the harsh winter and humid summers bred mold in the basement and walls of my house, these days its in the same boat as my truck and i. the car plant closed its doors 3 years ago today. as a former employee and an early retiree i find myself sifting through the days holding onto the things i truly enjoy and tossing out the other 23 hours of garbage.

i drive by my old career, re imagining how it all went wrong. we knew it was coming. lay-offs and pay-cuts, i was the last of my friends to get the boot. i guess making a life out of maintaining the machines that make vehicles isn't such a bad gig after all. i had made it to foreman by the time i was let go, it doesn't sound like much but a nice change to be recognized. the promotion didn't come with any pay increase. those years do a number on your physical condition. this landscape has grown increasingly bare and so pale. the trees were gray and had beards to the dirt. the sky was a few shades off from being the same color as the earth. this place used to thrive, we had theatres, car-hops, diners with the best breakfast omelette's north of Kansas. the young graduate and hit the pavement looking for a life of their own. they move on never to come back. we are few here.

out past the airport, my favorite spot, i climb atop my truck and lay on the hood. i can feel the warmth radiating up from the burning engine. staring at the sky as the planes land and depart. i can't help but wonder where they're going, why am i not with them? i climb down, climb in and drive off. down the old farm roads i take my time. over pot holes and gravel. there is nothing for me here. why dwell in my own despair? i have no one and nothing except a full tank of gas and I'm not coming back.