Night Lane Poem by Matthew Holloway

The radio plays in the quiet hour
Where the evening waits for morning
It's company I guess on the journey
Keeping me from falling asleep
Lights pass in a haze and blur
Some occasionally blinding for a minute
The wheel stays almost stationary
Except for minor corrections
The lane straight, stretching out
Looks almost endless in the moment
A passing rain taps on the windows
The wipers rise and fall in motion
To the Rolling beat of the road
Then its gone quiet again
The trucks all pulling over
Drivers climbing into beds
And I carry onward through the night
Radio playing as a friend, company