Peter Magliocco

The Truck Stop Café

Will you hear my growls tomorrow
wrestling a fine-toothed devil
in the paroxysms of alpha fits?
Girlfriend has her bad moments
trolling the gods that be
in the discount supermarket
where cannibals shop on Sunday,
content to buy cow brains & salsa
(a real treat for braindead kids?)
& time has no meaning
when you’re too late for life
in the first place.
The highway pit stop is even worse,
their toxic nacho chips will kill you
at the faux café where ghouls reign
& truckers pause to ogle teen-trollops
buying smokes & bad smoothies:
this country is gang-bang heaven
where violence is food for thoughtlessness
swallowed by the freaks of Rob Zombie
chilling your underweight funny bone
their mad dogs will later gnaw on
as you slowly

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