Double Yellow

Double Yellow

He'd made good time
since midnight,
Highway 30 humming
under eighteen wheels.
Another town, another
off-ramp lizard
left red in taillights.
She'd been a tasty
brunette whose hazel-flecked
eyes roamed as his grunts
filled the cab. The splatter
of sweat, the sticky release
easily swiped clean
with lemon-scented towelettes
from the Flying J just across
the state line. Strawberry gloss
was left sweet on his tongue
as she climbed out, twenty
dollars crumpled in the moist
grip of her palm. The sun's coming
up. Seven hours down now,
one more to go to the red
brick, blue front door,
the wife's geraniums
blaze white in the dawn.