Jake's Flea Market

roadboys

by the false dawn timed by your headlights
you’ll see the white distress of their thumbs

pull over and stop for them

they’ll watch the opening of the passenger door
the spilling out of an offer of light

they’ll wonder why you stopped for them

your brake lights will crest
the waves of their tears with clear red

shine on their faces
like the lights in a dashboard
that warn of impending failure

call out to them

the coming of headlights and messiahs
over the hills and down the rises in the highway

they’ve watched them come so fast
and pass them by without slowing

they won’t answer you

they’ve watched heavens 
come to a stop on the shoulder behind them 

have turned and ran like converts to christ’s coming

engines have screamed
and tires have squealed away in laughter

they’ve wept their faith out on the bra strap
white line on the shoulder

they trust neither kindness nor mercy

by your car’s interior light
let your curses stream out

reach across and slam the open door closed

drive away

the cold dark fumes of your exhaust will wrap
like wet scarves around their solitudes

you too will have escaped them