PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

He is just an eighteen wheeler

in a hundred thousand dollar rig

he doesn't own the truck yet

and the payments are quite big

His hands are rough and calloused

but his heart is kind and good

and if you ask a favor

he would do it if he could

He travels o'er the country

going north, and south, east and west

for driving of the big wheels

is the thing he does the best

He has a mom in Oklahoma

and a son in Tennessee

and somewhere in the state of Georgia

a wife waits patiently

He is tall and lean and lanky

and his hair is long and sooty black

and he wears cowboy boots and western shirts

and there must be at least twenty

that he keeps there in the stack

He plays western songs upon the radio

and he plays them long and loud

and sometimes he'll sing along

for of his voice, he is quite proud

He will haul a load of lumber

from the state of Washington

and he'll have to be in Pittsburg

before the setting of the sun

He'll pick up a load of copper tubing

and then he'll head out for L A

and the deadline that they give

leaves no time to lag or play

some days are slow and lazy

and things seem to go quite well

some days are hard and savage

and when it's over

It would seem he'd been to hell

some days he travels on the highways

with troubles very few

and then the qual-com light comes blinking on

and he thinks, now what did I do

In the freezing snows of Minnesota

orArizona's blazing sun

don't feel sorry for yourself

for you've been paid good money

for the driving that you've done

He'll take a load of baby cats (small buldozers)

and haul them Florida way

and then he'll hook onto a trailer of tarped merchendise

and head toward Santa Fe

He keeps his log book up to date

so he will never get behind

for if you're stopped and it's not done

you'll get a hefty fine

But he wouldn't change his way of living

that's all he's ever done

and he learned the ropes the hard way

and now he's number one

There's a double bed behind his seat

and on the shelf's a small T V

his clothes are in his suitcase

and his money's in his lockbox

and he has the only key

A truckers prayer hangs on the mirror

and he keeps  a bible on the dash

and he says a prayer most every night

that he doesn't have a crash

Life is good but sometimes lonely

but he wouldn't change a thing

for when he the wheels a humming

he oft times begins to sing

Now he's made it to the summet

of a place called Donner Pass

and he's heading on to California

and the wheels are rolling fast

The Peterbilt he's driving

is black and gold with silver trim

and the smoke stack keeps belching black smoke

in a line that's long and thin

Now he's heading back to Georgia

to take a long and needed rest

and he's bringing home a dozen roses

for the lady he loves best

and he'll stay there for a week or two

and enjoy what life has in store

then he'll crawl up in that big rig

to ride the roads once more

and he whistles a happy tune

as he pulls out on the interstate

for he has trucking in his blood

and sometimes he just can't wait