April poem prompts: Day 1

Gas station coffee
is 6am,
that slick styrofoam, pop top,
tentative first sip,
headlights on the road.
I am in the astro van,
stretched out on the bench seat.
The playmate is packed with sandwiches,

tucked in between the seats
and the whirr of the interstate,

waiting for vacation to start.
The sleep comes easily
without gas station coffee.