Hey there everyone. I hope by now you’re all shrugging off the nasty weather and enjoying the smooth sailing that the middle of spring can offer. A few weeks ago, I took a little road trip to central Oregon to hang out with my friend Gus and to help him tinker on some of his old rigs he has sitting around his property. As it turned out, we actually spent the day playing with the trucks and sharing stories and never actually lifted a wrench. But that’s totally fine with me. I just enjoyed hanging out and spending time with a friend. While we were talking, we mentioned some of the past poems I’ve written for the magazine. We were having fun and discussing funny or silly topics that I could possibly write about in the future. Gus mentioned that he and his dad, Jeff, had recently discussed how puzzling it is that so many public restrooms will mount the toilet paper roll dispensers so low on the wall beside the throne. Then he suggested I should write a poem about that. So, I give Gus and Jeff credit for challenging me to write about low-mounted toilet paper rolls! We all know they’re out there, and they’re unnecessarily inconvenient. Okay, I admit, this poem is not exclusively about toilet paper rolls, but the concept inspired the topic of things that are, indeed, too low. But I still think it qualifies as a challenge accepted.
TOO LOW?
By Trevor Hardwick
Every now and then I’ll find,
Somebody comes along.
They’ll ask me why my truck’s so low,
As if that’s something wrong.
I don’t think my truck’s too low,
It suits me to a “T”.
But here’s a list of other things,
That seem too low to me.
The branches on some city streets,
The pants on many teens.
The rates on cheap brokered freight,
And the paycheck that it brings.
Visors on some gaudy rigs,
The freezing fog and snow.
These are things that I’d agree,
Are just too frikkin’ low.
The toilets in some restroom stalls,
And their toilet paper rolls.
Why they’re mounted so dang low,
Nobody really knows.
The double-nickel limit,
And the temperature in Maine.
The shoes I need to reach and tie,
After all the weight I’ve gained.
It dang-sure ain’t my taxes,
I’d accuse of being low.
But I’d sure love to see how low,
The price of fuel could go.
The volume on my favorite jam,
A bridge where rigs get stuck.
But if you think something’s too low,
It dang-sure ain’t my truck!
