Toll taker taking tolls.
Sunday, mid morning, doing what has to be done.
I don't think when he was a boy, that he dreamed of
becoming a toll taker.
I don't think he dreamed he'd be divorced and working
two jobs, missing his kids.
Or working part time, smelling exhaust, and living
on mac 'n cheese.
I don't think he dreamed about growing up single, alone,
ghosting in a rundown, single wide, watching re-runs
on his days off.
Whatever his life is, it's a sure bet he did not dream it.
Sundays as a kid were family dinners and football,
ma and dad relaxing, kids goofing.
I don't think he knew Sundays would become
just another day.
A day he had to have, to survive.
There was magic then, and a vague sense of hope.
There is no hope in a Sunday morning toll booth.
Still, he smiles and says "Have a good one."
Putting feelers out for the revival of hope.
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