Short Pickup Truck Poems
Short Pickup Truck Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Pickup Truck by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Pickup Truck by length and keyword.
There's a girl named *blank* with fire red
hair
She makes all the boys stop and stare
But little boys ain't what she's looking for
A country man she hopes to score
Riding round in a pickup truck
Hopin that they don't get stuck
Cruising in my pickup truck
Seems I might be out of luck
A semi with a heavy load
Just ran my ass off the road
I wonder if he was aware
I doubt he even saw me there
Not much to do at this stage
To help subdue my growing rage
My car is old and fallin apart
Sometimes it doesn't even want to start
It has a hood the color blue
I really wish for something new
A lotto win, a ton of cash
I'd buy a new one in a flash
Maybe with a little luck
It could be a pickup truck
To most city slickers I suppose
it’s a little hard for them to tell
the difference between a cowboy
and just a plain farmer. in the dell
Well one uses a horse and a rope
the other drives a tractor and plow
One smells like a fancy pickup truck
The other like the ass of a cow
Sexually you took over
Mentally I was your shoulder
physically you're a peewee with a
stroke that should've killed me
Emotionally your still carrying the
pain your ex brought. Thinking I'm
the pickup truck so you can let it all
go So you can breathe so it can
drop.
I guess not
-BRY
Saturday someone
in a run down pickup truck
stuck his hand out the window
and gave, what man calls,
the finger.
was this meant to
make me feel blue
or more then likely
to reel at me
some sort of displeasure?
I failed to see
how a gesture
could accomplish
a reaction.
He gave me the finger-
I waved him a smile
The pickup truck ahead of us
Had decals on the glass,
The first a flag – American –
Like many cars we pass.
The second, a machine gun,
At an angle, all in white,
Announcing to the world
Someone is looking for a fight.
I guess interpretation
May arrive at different ends
But I’m pretty sure that driver
Wouldn’t be among my friends.
Tell me
What you see
When you
Look at me
is it really what you thought
it was?
And I've
had enough
of things like love
and bitterness.
Got no one to thank but the
clouds in the sky,
but why, why do they seem
so grateful?
Sign me up for the winter
cuz the summer's got me down
When I see all these hard bodies
it makes me frown
Driving all alone
into pitch black nothing
Inside feeling empty
like this lonely highway
He tries to drive away
from all his problems
but they always follow him
everywhere he goes
There’s a deep sick feeling
inside his gut
and he’s running out of gas
inside his pickup truck
Nothing to lose
but nothing to gain
All of his attempts
are made in vain
Boys baked brown
By a midday sun
Beating down
On Indiana hay fields—
Taut stomachs, tight buttocks in sweaty jeans,
Unbuttoned shirts catching wind and showing skin
In the back of a pickup truck . . .
You laugh
When I tell you
My libido
Can still be stirred
By the scent
Of new mown hay.
Girl, you should have been with me in the sixties,
Before the fields were stripped
And that summer harvest
Was
Shipped
Out
To
Vietnam.
Champagne when you celebrate
Wine just for the taste
Whiskey when you need to forget
And you have no time to waste
Beer when it’s hot and the work is done
Brandy when the nights turn cold
Rum on the beach fresh fruit within reach
Isopropyl when you're growing old
Scotch and whatever, black tie affairs
Vodka helps you play your role
But lying in the bed of an old pickup truck
Tequila... lets you visit your soul
Hey lady, hey lady
Hire me
hire me
I have no work for you
I say
turning into Home Depot
holding my face
straight
ahead
wearing my grey hair like a shield.
Unable to look you in the eye,
I sitting unmoving as if you weren’t
right
there
in the middle of the street
right
there
hanging off the curb
waving at me.
Hey lady,
Hey lady.
I have no work for you
I say
heavy with guilt
from the bench seat of my
pickup truck.
I’m not a redneck, but in Georgia I attract them like flies.
They all have the best pickup truck that money can buy.
With heavy southern accents, they lay their line on thick.
Calling me honey and sweetie, which is refreshing to this city chick.
I don’t need a lot of money from the guy I choose,
I only ask for love and respect, and no short fuse.
I’m looking for someone to make my passion ignite when we kiss,
So these redneck guys in Georgia, I will not dismiss.
Their heads superglued, smiles extend,
the spread of their deer quilt upon his lap.
They read, as if one, “Mon—ey can’t buy
hap-pi-ness but it can buy hunting gear…
which is pretty much the same thing.”
Last line succinctly added to their chime.
The deer stand, his pride, sometimes
given up to his wife, as he nervously
waits in the pickup truck. Recently
women show their trophies on media
with bowed knee and the stance of
a hunting rifle. Husband pounds chest.
2/4/2021
it was a bright pretty happy day
Joy had always been excited about life
she was from a small town
seventeen years old, in her happy element
She was from the kind of a town where people take care of each other
her bicycle chain broke on a country road
a nice-looking man in a blue pickup truck smiled at her
He turned his truck around to help
Offered to take her to town to fix it
Lifted the bike into his truck, showing his kindness
Joy trusted his smile
she was never seen again