I am driving the West Virginia Turnpike, my name is Nip. More than a hundred times, I have made this long trip. My rig is like a high tech, computerized, eighteen wheel barrow. Driving between the lines on these mountains straight as an arrow. Motorists slamming suddenly on their brakes makes my very mad. Then I have to gear down my rig and lightly touch my footpad. I have driven many different kinds of trucks, even those detachable. However, I have seen others drive cars that are sad or unspeakable. I look forward to stopping at the truck stops for a snack. Then before I leave, I will chcek my tires with a hugh jack. The roads that I travel are rough, narrow, winding, or pitch dark. Whenever I get too tired, I will just find a cozy place to park. When I return to the road and a motorist makes me a gladiator. Suddenly, I have to change into Superman and hit the accelerator. A four wheel, slow moving, turtle dove in front of us; we do dread. Then we are forced to maneuver around or through them like thread. Turning their automobiles into a rusted, broken, and flat artichoke. Sadly, not being able to find anyone from the cleared fog smoke. Sometimes it would be very nice to receive from people a, 'thank you.' Whenever your goods are not in the stores, you start to boo hoo. So, on a bright sunny day, I want to see a rainbow or a smile. On just one someone's face, as I travel this road one more mile. Copyright (c) 1995 Marva L. Dowdin
Reason for writing:
This poem is one of which is included in my second
book of poems that is finished. I wrote several poems
about the life of truckers and their job on the road.
I wrote many poems about different occupations, but
the trucker's job touched my heart. I often look in
amazement at what they do. To them I say, "thanks
for a great job that you are doing." Marva L. Dowdin
Birth sign: Not entered
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