Before - I Don't Like Waiting

Twelve hours.

I sit motionless, freed
from the pack, but not from my thoughts.
What was undefined is now known,
and I'm trying to digest.
I stare out the window without seeing
the tourist trap town
that had captivated us
when we passed it going
the other way. Now it is nothing
more than a blurry bit
of landscape passing by.

Eight hours.

We're listening to Dry Bar
on YouTube, trying to pass the time...
or trying to forget? I don't want
to remember, don't want to know,
don't want to think about
the horrific news, but it's like watching
a car accident and my thoughts
can't look away.
I draw lurid mental images
of something I didn't see, can't imagine.
Selfish, to laugh
when someone is suffering
so I try to picture it, but
I just don't know
what a child's hands look like
after they've been buried
in smoldering coals.

Two hours.

Have I slept?
I don't remember much of anything,
and the diesel engine's dull roar
is like a sound machine,
the constant noise numbing
the edges of my consciousness.
The uneven road rocks me
back and forth, the chatter
of my family is a lullaby,
coaxing me further and deeper into
sleep.