Trucker

Speckled pavement stretches out before me. 

A stream of white lines whistle by.

An awaited green sign with white lettering

Only forty-three miles until the next truck stop.

Passing headlamps obscure my vision

and I can't rub them out of my eyes.

The tire and the road growl at me.

A grating reminder I'm still moving.

I never thought I could look forward

so much to a lonely cabin.
A place so nearby and 38 miles away

but I am late so I pass it by.

There's no place or time to rest
on my rolling series of destinations

Just two-hundred eighty-seven more miles

and I will drop off this load.
Where's my coffee?
Ahhh, on down the road I go.

So the criticism I received on this was that it didn't end really well, which I kind of anticipated and that I should revise this to read in compound sentences to make the truck drives gargled thoughts flow better.  I have attempted to address both of these issues and I think I have made improvements..

Speckled pavement stretches out before me.
A stream of white lines whistle by.
An awaited green sign with white lettering
Forty-three miles until the next truck stop.
Passing headlamps obscure my vision.
I can't rub them out of my eyes.
The tire and the road growl at me.
A grating reminder I'm still moving.
I never though I could look forward
so much to a lonely cabin.
A place so nearby and 38 miles away.|
A place to rest before reaching|
a rolling series of destinations|
but I am late so I pass it by.|
Two-hundred eighty-seven miles|
and I will drop off this load.