Victim Of Endless Miles

A gauzy plastic shroud
dims flickering fluorescents
above a pitted, yellowing mirror.

Denizens of endless billboards and exhaust
leave their crude monikers
etched on peeling stall walls.

Acrid air pools, within
this too familiar travelers' relief station;
untouched by years of disinfectant.

Late at night I wander in,
myself a victim of endless miles
of glaring lights and broken lined asphalt.

My nostrils shiver on contact
with the ancient stench;
in the short hours it permeates the soul.

A splash of cold water
temporarily relieves the highway hypnosis,
shock-waking these too tired eyes.

Thoughts drift to myriad travelers,
alien faces in alien lives
stopping for sometimes blissful relief.

Nobody talks here, silence rules
excepting constant water splash
and groans of paint encrusted rusty hinges.

Hidden beneath weathered glass
vagabond years come floating by,
some mysteries never to unfold.

Puffy blue eyes glassily attempt to focus,
but they don't really register,
another victim of endless miles.