TRUCKSTOP MEMORY

At the truckstop of memory, the dawn is pink,
pearlescent, smelling of diesel exhaust.
Weary truckers joke with the Alabama waitress, 
eating greasy eggs, grits, and gravy,
resting for a time before heading out again.
Country music plays on the jukebox,
heartbroken songs they all ignore
as they laugh and drink hot coffee.

Among the truckers is a family of Hoosiers
who rode all night, Florida-bound,
children napping as Daddy drove through the dark.
A chubby little girl looks around her,
sees and hears and tastes and smells
the truckstop morning, Alabama, 1961.

She will always remember the sky,
washed with the glow of pink dawn.