I recall, on this day,
those endless holiday road trips
crawling in bumper-to-bumper
snaking lines of tail lights,
slug-like cars with blue-black exhaust rising,
as we traversed from Maryland up the Eastern Seaboard
following I-95 in search of our Thanksgiving turkey feast.
Mom behind the wheel,
she would call out directives to her navigator,
my Dad.
And he would reply
with his whole chest:
"10-4! Over and Out!"
Citizens Band, CB radio code speak,
he would remind us,
every fourth hour in traffic.
"Trucker Talk"
he'd re-tred his words.
Ten four.
Code for:
Message received.
Short-hand for:
A-O-Kay.
On this waterlogged quiet Sunday,
thirty years removed
from being contained and constrained
in the family sedan,
I find myself exclaiming to an empty room:
"10-4! Over and out."
