Trucks Poems

NO FEAR OF DODGE RAMS FORCING US OFF THE ROAD NOR FORD TRUCKS SIDE SWIPING US FOR GARGANO

I'VE IN CONSTANT CONTACT WITH EHE FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION SINCE 1985 I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO FEAR OF CORRUPTION BRUTALITY ABUSE OF POWER INTIMATION NO FEAR OF BULLYING ANGRY THAT THE REPEAT VIOLENT MEXICAN GANG LEADER MAN DIE HARD DRUG MANUFACTURING BRUTAL BEATINGS BRUTAL STABBINGS FICTICIOUS WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHT IDENTITY FRAUD ARSON MURDER OF

Night Trucks’ Country

They’re roaring by with lights aglow
Akin space rockets, to and fro
Unfailing captains on steroids
Between this Earth and asteroids

This is the blood that moves the trade
This is America, conveyed
Truck-ships, with missions on the mind
Despite the night defy the grind

Rigs leave no waves in their wake
Them running fast and never brake
Men often follow their path
So to avoid

Tedeschi Trucks Band

Econo Lodge sign
       High
        On
        Its
      Pylon

Best we can do
For you Tedeschi Trucks
To put a moon in the sky

Over this interstate interchange
Jammed with cars and a decrepit minor league hockey

I love Soldiers Trucks and Sand

What do you want to be when you grow up?
Other girls were saying “princess, ballerina, secretary, nurse, and teacher.”
I said, “I want to be a race car who owns a fire truck.”
None of the laughing ones knew I meant it.
None of the other girls knew why I was the way I was.
They knew I was

pickups

It sits out in your driveway
a glittering metallic sculpture.
It costs more than your house,
you love it more than your spouse.
You can hardly drive it, it’s too high,
you can barely park it, it’s so wide.
Like an exotic compulsion, you need it,
though you can barely afford to feed it.
There’s a cockpit with winking tech,
offering a printer, wi-fi

Trash Trucks

Chirpy birds disturb my deep sleep.
Sky pastels reflect in a somber ashen tinge.
Sun seems to be lost in a floating mist,
cloaking wet slates and chimney smoke.

As lamp lights reflect upon puddles,
poured into uneven pavement slabs,
it seems like an abundance of angels,
wept like irritated insomniacs overnight.

In the backdrop of contemplation,
a trash truck thunders and plunders,
with boisterous

Outside My Office Window

Outside my office window, is a field with a canal running through it,
Today people have turned up with diggers and dumper trucks and are digging the field up bit by little bit.

Oftern barges slowly and gently go with the flow and casually moor there,
But now with all that equipment just to go ashore they have

Hissing Swishing Rumbling

Hissing cars
Swishing trucks
Rumbling bikes
Life is a highway
Really?
Combusting cylinders 
Pumping pistons
Turning crankshaft
Spinning flywheel
Engaging transmission
Motoring drive
Tranferring power 
Rolling tires
Hissing 
Swishing 
Rumbling  
Crash and burn
Life goes on

Cement Trucks

In the end
it was too slow, afflicted
by either age or illness
or simply distracted,
flew head first
into the eye of a headlight.
Flung contorted, neck bent
back, snapped of life,
it died
clumped on a verge.
Rewound to its first flight,
its brief existence traced
untold scribblings
across time and the space
stretched between
these tall trees.

No record remains.
A full stop is placed
here on this muddy shoulder,
the

Watermelon Festival

My bike
holds me a spot
Watermelon posters on each spike
In the month of August whilst’s scorching hot
Friends join me and we set up our man-made tent
We’ll  be  giving free  watermelon  slices  all  day!
Carnival rides, seed spitting contests, money well spent
Proceedings will go to the church of 'We Shall Pray'
My food

Band Band Sing Along

Working with trainer Pauhura Muruh
He developed the "Stirru Pomb"
and the "Thrips Massa" and
"Bassa Moto's Booby trap"
He'll make chicken wing , bending
Both knees with his shinlach.
A waistlach; roll into pinning 
Position.A "Tashiaz Bow" 
Rendition of a surfboard.
Massiro Missurira the
Brazilian Judo champion.


4 # ground pork
1/4 cup of green bell peppers
4 T minced garlic
1/3 c chopped onion
1/4 c

Goin To Town

Goin To Town
David J Walker 

Hey Farm boy
How’d ya get to town

On tractors and trucks
And 50 bucks 

And a flask of my 
Daddy’s Crown 

It’s Saturday night
There might be a fight

And we ain’t 
hanging around

This damned old farm
We don’t see no harm 

In getting out and  goin down
To drag the street where

Farm boys compete
For

Three Trucks

Truck One
Red
With its job soon to be done
Sleep soon ahead

Truck Two
Blue
Many shortcuts its gone through 
Yet still overdue

Truck Three
Big
By the Mediterranean sea
It drives with a jig

Rescue Trucks

The flashing lights alerted us
That something was awry,
With rescue trucks preventing
Any traffic getting by.

Adjacent to the river, there were
Police upon the scene
And rubberneckers focusing
On something not routine.

My curiosity aroused,
But blocked by all the crews,
I googled the location but
There wasn’t any news.

The light turned green; we drove on through
And never found out why.
It must’ve been somebody’s,
But

The Deal With Trucks

The deal with trucks (should you not own a truck)
that lollipop horsepowered cylinders -
is really how remarkably well they suck
the rubber tread where the interstate scissors
its cousin, Dixie, born Mississippi,
born as a man and staunch straight-ticket-down
yee-haw! Republican, a down-low-bi-
sexual, wearing Grand Wizard wedding gowns
in pappy’s cabin built on rolling logs,
who each day climbs the thick-cylinder

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