Route 2

by Andrey Gritsman

In a progressive Italian café, Regina,
in Gorham, New Hampshire, over Moretti, lasagna,
double espresso, having a cigarette.
The sky’s swollen with new snowfall.
Slow arrows of snowflakes scatter
over a gray, blurry watercolor
of the world printed on the window.
Five-axle truck with Maine plates
slows down, breathing asthmatically,
and curves itself into a cloudy vortex,
speeds away.

A man in the truck
can’t think of his eternal soul,
steering clear of life
along Main Street, passing
white eternity of runway ramp
just outside of town.

I walk out of the café,
get into a framed watercolor
of the street with “Joe’s” across,
drive away, thinking
of other souls as we
pass each other like flickering lights
on the highway until
snow blizzard,
caused by the truck
roaring in the opposite direction,
makes me forget about immortality
as I enter the curve, downshift,
accelerate, and disappear
inside a long, white train of snow,
leaving town behind,
perhaps forever.