an old truck
a 1am poem written for kansas country people
a nameless poem I wrote at 1am for all my country kansas people.
prompt ~ old car
***
a truck with a wheel
some rust and old wires
the groan of an engine
some patched up, worn tires
a radio that can only play
country station
a torn pair of muck boots,
license plate for the nation.
a dirty old dash with a ball cap and laces
leather football, faded photo of warm, cheerful faces
memories, dreams, tales of days long gone by
he remembers them all, as he turns, with a sigh—
the key in ignition, once, twice, then it’s starting
the truck revs the engine, then with that he’s departing
down the muddy dirt road where he’s been all those times
in those old days, them good days, oh, how the time flies!
the fields are still gold and the cows are still mooing
the wind is still soft and the swallows still cooing
the windows are down, because they were never rolled up
now they couldn’t be moved, in the years they’ve been stuck
he now eases the wheel and he steps on the pedal
he nods to a neighbor, but with a pop of the metal—
the truck roles to a stop, and he knows, with a sigh
that all things must soon break, and all old things must die.
he grabs the taped door handle, pushes it open
steps onto the dirt road, and turns, then is loping—
to the back of the truck, where he takes, no surprise
a box of old tools, and some tape, and zip ties
the thunder is rumbling
fields blow in the wind
he crawls under the truck bed with a wrench, starts to mend
for though all things must grow old and all things must die
there are some things we fight for as the years pass us by
for the dreams and the memories that bring us hope, love, and luck
can be found in most places, but for him, in a truck.
Hullo Emma!
I just wanted to say that, even though I'm not a "Kansas Kid," I really enjoyed your poem!
This rings very true to me because, although I do not have a truck, I do have a very very old minivan and it is constantly breaking down.
Although it is often very frustrating to drive that hunk of metal around, I also have so many incredible memories that revolve around or within my old Honda Odyssey.
I think that when I "upgrade" or when my car finally dies, I will mourn my current van more than most would guess!
Hello Emma!
This is my first time commenting. Your poem is lovely - I feel very much like the truck and the man trying to fix it. I am only 27, yet I have been through so much. My favourite part is:
"for though all things must grow old and all things must die
there are some things we fight for as the years pass us by
for the dreams and the memories that bring us hope, love, and luck ..."
I can't possibly convey how meaningful those lines are to me. I will certainly be keeping it in mind and hopefully returning to it in the future.
Thank you for your wonderful writing.