Where are all the trucking poets?
Ran across this poem that puts a spotlight on our profession. I’ve often wondered why are there are so few good trucking poems. Anybody out there got anything to offer? This one at least hits the mark.
Near Election, Missouri by Steven Schreiner
There is so much to hear from the highway at dawn
the trucker in his high cab
illuminated by switches
an image of him in speedometer glass
a picture of his wife and one
of his dog pasted on the ceiling above his sleeper
iPhone and Facebook page and the wind
on the hood of his Peterbilt
and then the light rises over the world
revealing weeds and granite
outcropping and later down between hills
on the rise above the river the dynamite
cut lines scarring the rock face
and soon it’s time to stop for coffee and breakfast
trundle over the rumble strips of the off-ramp
parking lot bumps and buddy trucks
the cavernous concussion of empty trailer
or the thunderous lumber of a heavy load
Inside at the bright treatment of the counter
the glare glances off a sticky menu
the clean counter-edge sparkle of mica
What’s good I’ll have that
These moments when living is the same
as driving leading somewhere
Then the radio with its rush and riling
talk the propriety to lie
the long day now returning
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Hey pretty baby don’t you know it ain’t my fault
I love to hear the steel belts hummin’ on the asphalt
Wake up in the middle of the night in a truck stop
Stumble in the restaurant wonderin’ why I don’t stop
Steve Earle – Guitar Town Lyrics
“keep the big one between the ditches
and the little one in your britches
and don’t play with the witches
you’ll bring mama the itches”
anonymous in a bath room stall, Dorchester, Ont.
Some pulled a dirty caper and left me sitting without any paper.
The scales are closed I must not linger so watch out” a**hole”, here comes my finger.