4 in the morning

at 4 in the morning it's just me and the truckers on the road

and the psycho killers in their minivans.

no one else is up and dressed, pants on one leg at a time, coffee sloshed.

there seem so many trucks but it's really the same number as always - just the lack of other cars makes them look like Stonehenge has decided to relocate.

there's the truck from Sysco with its cargo of Bloomin' Onions/Awesome Blossoms/Texas Roses. there's the truck from Wal-Mart with its cargo of Chinese plastic wrapped electronics. There's the BP truck with its tanks full of black paid for in blood. there's the psycho killer's minivan with its grim sacrifice carefully wrapped - a Chinese baker, perhaps who had stopped to get gas too late at night?

citizens with day jobs and for-profit criminals are all snoring - it's still yesterday's night for them.

us, we're all driving into the morning of their tomorrow (except for the Chinese baker, who will have no more tomorrows or even today).

Mark Bonica is a father, husband, soldier, photographer, and oddly, economics professor. His poetry has appeared in a variety of online and print magazines including Words-Myth, Righthandpointing, Oak Bend Review, and others. He has recently published a chap book, Oneironaut, and a collection of short fiction, Love Stories in Extraordinary Time. He blogs at recalcitrantegg.blogspot.com, and www.bonicaphoto.com/blog.