Strung along sleep

If you try to drive while you sleep,
sleep never comes to the vacant stare
at lanes, yellow eyes to make ready for
lane changes, to night, to sleep forever -
so long as gas lanes are not too full
of customers daring to ready the cot.

And then, leaving the scape of islands,
they remember how often it takes to
wipe the shield, as though I could never
take a sleep aid for daring to doze off -
laughing as though I never thought of
lives in other cars, dangling beside the 
median.

Still, it's not the median that cares, an
average sleep time that passengers just
love to see there, taking their naps
between oncoming traffic, as though
it were easy, as though we were -
when really it's a mirage - this time we
drift.

Like snow you say - taking plows that
are remarkable to be angelic, lying there
as I watch, breathing in and out while
it sleets, safely in a manner of speaking -
trials catch me unaware and prescribe
the perfect number of passengers.