this liquor, here
it’s a nitemare
there really is nothing else.
as i was crawling back, unslung
from the horrible north
at 60km per
i was pasted
and doused
by a Tonka toy 4×4
that shattered
the little
visibility i had left
with the wash
of new fallen
pavement sludge.
in the tackle
of box-bed garb
i noticed
the work boot
turned up towards
the unending torrent
of heavy snow.

only a man
driven to drive
thru madness
to get
to the one
he couldn’t keep out of
would let a boot
that earns his fuel
get wet.

i raised my road pop
in silent salute
and wonder
to the desperate life
the alcoholic lives
along the modern highway.