Handcuffed to Table Twelve
Seven in the evening
comes barreling
over the horizon
I rest
in the booth
of a roadside diner
in the company
of some
unfamiliar comrade
table twelve decorated
with half-eaten cuisine
and a young couple
seated speechless
the mother feeding
her newborn baby
a pink bottle
the father's eyes
glued to the giant
red sign which reads:
EXIT
We will soon
hit the road
rolling seventy
miles per hour
but he will
be anchored
to that table
forever