Midnight passes

Across the face of the traveler

As it had so many nights before

Sitting in darkness silent

In that car

On that road

Just outside that small town

Mud crusted hands gripped the wheel

Of that old beater

Wind howls around him

And the car sways almost imperceptibly

His image in the rear view mirror

That of a soulless stranger

Awaiting his invitation to the dance

Empty eyes and weathered skin

Just enough character

To let him be ignored and blend

Faceless

Another car approaches and passes

As if he was a phantom near that ditch

Engine starts, muddied hands flex

Heavy foot moves to the pedal

And the game begins again