Hitchhike

   Thoughts ripped away unfinished in the draft of speeding trucks.  They mingle with the flying dust that settles in the corners of his eyes.  Makes him blink.  

   He stands on the shoulder of the road, shifting his feet in the coarse sand.  Waiting for a chance to sit down facing the other way, the way he wants to go.  

   He shifts his weight to the other foot, the other leg, the other side of his back.  

   A slow dance.