The trucks are the people of the night
They have a date under my building
They dance, tire to tire, ring to ring
To the rhythm of their engines.
On the slippery asphalt
On the slope of Amsterdam
Their breaks whisper things
Their wheels squeak
Though all the lights are red
And all the cops are awake
Against the snow and fug
They keep their affairs.
They wink their headlights
Get excited and honk
Then drive on reckless
Leave a poet sleepless.
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