I was looking through some really old writing this morning and found something that reminded me of a hobby I had when I was 15-16. I’d get a Writer’s Market magazine and find weird, hyper-specialized magazines; things like Meat and Poultry Magazine and Walls and Ceiling Magazine. I would write poems and essays to these magazines, pretending to be an enthusiast about whatever the topic was, anticipating how cool it would be to have a binder full of rejections from these freaky publications.*
Last night, I found two poems I wrote when I was 15, for Truckin’ Magazine. The first one is called Truckin’ Man.
My man was sent to prison
For a crime he didn’t do.
He killed a man in an unfair fight
Outside the VFW
He left me with 3 children
And we do the best we can
Waiting here in our mobile home
For our good old truckin’ man
He drove his rig through hell and back
To put food on our table
And I know he’ll do it again one day
Just as soon as he is able
Through rain and desert, drivin’ on
Through winter’s snow and blizzard
I never feared he’d leave me dry
For some truck-stop lot lizard
Yes, through all the days and all the nights
I knew he’d come home again
And I’ll wait for the day that he drives his rig
Through the gates of the Raiford State Pen
I know he hears the call of the road
And will do the best he can
And I’ll love him as a good wife should
‘Cause he’s my truckin’ man
The next one is called Truckin’ Woman. It’s shorter.
It’s lonely out on this interstate
For a truckin’ woman without a date
It’s hard when it’s late and there’s only me
To talk to on my old CB
It’s sad to think I’m so alone
With only the company of good old George Jones
I wish I had me a man to grab
And pull back here in my rig’s cab
A little lovin’ would be just the thing --
Hey, turn up that radio
I love KD Lang!
this magazine. The cover, Truckin’ Magazine. Who’s laughing now, eh?