Self-portrait as a truck

The days are long but the nights are longer.
The cows are my only companions. I don’t think
they like me. They look at me like an
interloper, a stranger in the local
watering hole. I suppose I am one.
My driver counts for something, I suppose,
and the cargo too, but really, they’re
a part of myself so.
                     There you are.
Though I suppose you is just me, honking
to myself, lowing to the indifferent moon.