Exit off Interstate 75 at any time of night.
There's bound to be one with pulled-over
Tractor trailers in the parking lot, buzzing,
Fluorescent-light-insect-halos over heads
Of these men and women who have taken
Vows unrecognized by the outside world,
Fatigued from road-hours, deadline-fights,
Catching static like their two-way radios,
Moving change across counters of grease-
Spattered sanctuaries, gas-burner votives
Lit, conversations warming to confessions.
