“Diner Dash”

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(10-25)

 

Chicken fried, with a gravy slop

A diner meal, at a West Virginia truck stop

A visual cue for release

A gastronomic trip through bacon grease

Black coffee, on the side

A pause in the midst of a backroads ride

Flathead chopper at the curb

On a stool at the counter, got what I deserved

 

The morning dew came with an icy twist

Seasons changing as I flex my wrist

Colors bright, along the mountain ridge

No need to keep my attitude hid

The modern world has teetered off its pin

No longer able to wind and spin

For that reason, I’m glad to get fed

In a place where the mood runs from blue to red

 

Say a good word about the Lord, if you can

While loggers stack loads of timber by hand

This is a destination, too often missed

A break in the tree line, at the edge of a cliff

I used to be convinced that nothing changed

No matter where a drifter rides this range

But now as my hair has streaks of gray

I realized that there is another way

 

Boots up and rolling, in the breeze

Big cylinders beating out a cadence of need

Running hot into the sunset, without fear

When the day is finished, I’ll give thanks for a cold beer

I might have been this way with childhood luck

When grandpa held the wheel of a Studebaker truck

But that memory has faded over time

It’s hard to keep those moments in mind

 

A Mountaineer ethos rules the road

Where the brave are bold, and fools fear to go

Up the side of a craggy ledge

Tires spinning at the world’s rocky edge

Upon reaching the summit of that peak

I look down on creation with relief

And behold what a loving God must have built

Free from heartache, gloom and guilt

 

My throwback meal settles like a stone

In crevices of my stomach, long left alone

Those gobs of flour and fat fill the void

Left from lingering too long in a kingdom, destroyed

It is better to take my place again

Shunned by the goodness of neighbors and friends

Once I hit top gear and fly to the sun

There’ll be a reward when this journey is done

 

Kickstarter curses make spectators aware

A tickle of gasoline fumes fill the air

Straight pipes rattle, like a shotgun song

The time has come, to righteously move along

I never intended to stay for a fortnight

Traveling quickly, my burden is light

Bare knuckles, in an open-fingered glove

This is the life I lead, my labor of love

 

Leaving town like a phantom possessed

Stoked and satisfied with a bandit’s fleeting happiness

I own nothing but my soul and my name

That alone brings first prize in this carnival game

Hail the dawn, meek and gentle when it comes

A mood of humble grace, and gratitude won

If my ride should end when the clock goes still

I’ll be grateful for climbing that hill