95

While piloting my car, the windows down,
In giddy blank oblivion of speed
Down 95, a truck pulled up beside me
Without a trailer, less than half its wheels,
And all the brawn.  An awkward, graceless beast,
It hauled its loadless load with steadfast speed
While ten feet dragged behind its shining bulk
Like wasted legs.  It seemed about to fall.

Some miles down the road it gave a snort
From out its grotesque silver snout, and fell
Behind me.  Glancing back at it I saw
That it had disappeared beyond the trees—
Perhaps to find its other half— I thought,
And turned the music up, and carried on.