Beyond the lights on the interstate,
Red and white on either side,
Are the windows in buildings, like tv sets,
With their light shining from inside.
Much like home,
Much like stars,
Much like the comfort of bed,
The lives being played within them
Speed at eighty through my head.
Long-drive dreams in a leather seat,
And wishing one window was mine,
Impatience grips the steering wheel,
Impatience shifts between lines.
Are drive-in movies,
And I imagine the parts being played,
Of families, business men, and rooms that lay empty,
Waiting on an overnight stay.
Louisa in linens and Simon in silks,
In adjecent rooms on the fifth floor,
And Molly and Allen in a condo by the lake,
And Christopher answering his door,
Whether they go,
Whether they stay,
And what circumstance landed them there,
To see where they are, from the window of my car
Makes it seem a bit unfair.
They have a bed, and a light to turn off,
And I'd be pulled over for turning off mine,
A silly thought, I know. Almost stupid, in fact,
I know that I'll be home in time.
But after I leave,
Before I arrive,
Is an uncomfortable limbo, indeed.
Hours pass and it seems I'll be stuck here forever,
Monitoring lanes, my gas tank, my speed.
The distance between where you are and where you're bound,
Can feel too long to bear,
And home seems so far, when you look at the bright windows,
Of people who are already there,
But in time,
And over miles,
You'll find a change of scenery for your feet,
And when you arrive, you'll be glad to claim
A bed instead of a seat.