sub-jeckel

          

             retro-gradation

                      -or-

              pulling uphill

I’ve got a bag of cry’s that are destined for van nuys.  As a trucker w/ a prosthetic leg, a part of this journey contains some bit of dread; mountains and braking, slippering slopes the less be said.  Let’s see what’s a-

Took a sleep break, still groggy, on this side of an off-ramp that implied no parking yet I understood that doesn’t apply to our rigs.  I feel gassed out but gas up.  These lamentations aren’t going to deliver themselves.

On the road again: highways 40, 66, 81, they all seem to blend.  My nave-star tells which direction I should be aiming for; I attach myself to the CB, an extension of my arm, to counteract my phantom limb.

“Is CBW out there?” I howl.

“Negative I-8,” he responds.

I keep trucking along packed highways, desolate roads.  The trail of tears weighs down the trailer, makes it slower: but its destination and my relief is an exit ahead.