Roadhouse Blues

Sea waves
Passing cars
The radio being tuned
The brushing of a drum
The clinking of glasses
The swooshing of hot, greasy air
All
Collapse
Overlap
Converge
Congealing all senses
Sticky, gently swaying bodies
Into the solid color of harsh daylight
As the day trundles on
Like soft butter spread thickly on toasted earth
Waiting for the evening rain
To bring some cool respite.