If you’ve been reading my intros and poems for a while, then you’re probably aware that March is the beginning of my favorite time of year. The days are just beginning to get warmer and longer, and the trees and plants are starting to come alive again, as they shrug off the winter cold. And, of course, truck show season is upon us! I am particularly excited for a few of the shows I hope to attend. I’m also eager to see what kind of projects some of you have been working on that might hit the scene this year. Switching lanes here… does anyone still name their trucks anymore? Similar to the way fighter pilots and sea vessel captains would name their planes and ships, truck drivers have been naming their rigs for as long as I can remember. But I honestly haven’t seen much of that in recent years. My dad would often name his various rigs based upon different factors. Perhaps the color of the paint would earn its name, or maybe the unit number would inspire its name. I remember dad’s old GMC General was issued unit number W2. So, dad named the truck “Wife 2” (see photo). And I always got the impression that mom didn’t necessarily find it as funny as dad did (see photo again). This poem is inspired by “The Ol’ Lady” – a truck I saw with that name many years ago. I have no idea where that truck is today, but I haven’t forgotten it. I used to wonder if the owner was an older woman, or if the man driving it was referring to the truck as his old lady. Either way, I found it curiously funny. Happy truck show season. And don’t forget to doll-up the Ol’ Lady and take her out for a spin to show her off a bit!
THE OL’ LADY
By Trevor Hardwick
She’s got her game on,
And she’s rollin with a smile.
She puts her best foot forward for me,
Mile after mile.
She ain’t as young now,
As she was a few years back.
But she still knows how to throw,
A flame out of her stack.
She’s got stretch marks,
But you best not give her lip.
It’s just from when they stretched her out,
With a newer air ride clip.
And talk about long-legged,
She can outrun any wind.
To say she ain’t got timeless class,
Would simply be a sin.
She’s a little heavier,
She’s been packin on the pounds.
But if you’re like a lot of us,
You’ll like the way that sounds.
And yeah, she whines a lot,
She’ll tell you when she’s mad.
She grumbles and she groans,
But she really ain’t that bad.
Oh, she’s beautiful,
Even more as time goes by.
I must admit there’s chemistry,
Between ol’ she and I.
She ain’t got saddlebags,
Because she’s a big rig, not a bike.
She’s got the kind of extra goods,
I ain’t ashamed to like.
You can’t push her none,
She just runs at her own pace.
Ain’t no sense in pushin,
As the world flies in her face.
I call my rig Ol’ Lady,
And we keep each other goin.
She smokes and drinks and leaks a bit,
But I guess her roots are showin.
