by Scott Beal
The sky's black mat flattens everything against the rush of road which undercuts him from the edge of his headlight beams. The cab seethes around him, panel and windshield buckling in with each gasp. The pavement's metronomic white dashes run him through — a seam, splitting. Five hundred miles away she sits his son in front of thawed nuggets and a cartoon sponge. Every minute at the wheel he rolls deeper into anesthetic panic, farther from nightlights and gladware. If he pulls off now for a mouthful of air, the cab will never let him back in.
Scott Beal was 826michigan's Volunteer of the Month in November 2007.