Roadtrip to Chicago

He reaches up slowly with one index finger,
and gracefully pushes the sun visor back into place.

I notice this gesture in my rear view mirror,
and something about it makes my heart stir.
Some remembrance provoked by this small gesture.

I pull away from the stoplight in Marion, Illinois,
and notice that he drives a black Ford pickup,
one of those monster trucks with four doors
and the back wheel base wider than the front.

He wears a baseball cap,
metal-rimmed sunglasses,
and an orange T-shirt
with something written on the front.
He follows me lazily, not too close,
not in any hurry.

At the next stoplight,
he sticks a cigarette in his mouth,
where it hangs on his lip like a pout,
and lights it with a Bic.
another gesture that stirs the girl
that thought that gesture was sexy.

I peer to make out his face,
and can see only that it is not youthful,
but young enough,
with a sandy-colored mustache,
not exactly to my liking.

The light turns green.
I pull away
and am distracted.
When I look again, he is gone

I have lost the man in the pickup truck,
the girl that noticed him
in the rearview mirror,
and the moment.