A MEMORABLE CONVERSATION
By Poet/Artist/Truck Driver Trevor Hardwick
In writing this poem I tried to think of the different “personalities” that the road possesses. If different stretches of our infrastructure were to adopt human-like personalities, I feel that their attitudes toward us as drivers would vary greatly. The interstate is relatively young, very bold, mighty and careless of what stands in its path (much like the stereotype of a young adult male). The turnpike seems more like a snobby, tight-fisted political type - quick to take your money, yet slow to produce the results it has implied. The highway plays the role of the trusty old friend who we don’t spend as much time with as we’d like. But we appreciate its old familiarity when we reunite for a visit. To me, the boulevard seems like a prissy-type lady who would rather not see the likes of an 18-wheeler if she could avoid it. Her friends are the city commuters and shoppers and she can’t stand the heavy and noisy rumble of the trucks as they traverse her narrow, less than accommodating streets. And finally, the dirt road, which is quiet and wise, like an old man. He can’t support the heavy traffic, but if you walk along his trusty trail, he’ll tell a story that takes you back in time. I hope you enjoy this “conversation” as a driver shares his thoughts with each section and they respond with their own unique perspectives.
CONVERSATION WITH THE ROAD
By Trevor Hardwick
Dear Interstate, you’re so mighty and so strong.
I love you and I hate you, but you’re just where I belong.
You’re vital to my livelihood, and yet so ignorant.
And nothing ever slows the growth, of your development.
Dear Driver, you know, you’re right about my strength.
From sea to shining sea, this land’s connected by my length.
You use me and abuse me, yet you somehow call me “home”.
You’d cry upon my shoulder, if I didn’t let you roam.
Dear Turnpike, you know I’ll never understand.
How you could be so rough, and still rob money from my hand.
Your bridges are in disrepair, your surface isn’t new.
So tell me just what have you done, with all that revenue?
Dear Driver, I must respond in disbelief!
The way you speak about me, makes it sound like I’m a thief.
If you don’t like how much it costs, to pay the posted toll.
Then buy yourself a map, and find some other route to roll.
Dear Highway, I know you’ve always been my friend.
You’ve taken me to places, I may never see again.
Your two-lane blacktop sizzles, in the summer afternoon.
And helps these 18-wheels, sing an old familiar tune.
Dear Driver, well it’s nice to see you’re back.
The public wants to see your cargo, on a railroad track.
I’ll still carry you along, between my faded lines.
Before the interstate came, we had some damn good times!
Dear Boulevard, I can’t do this anymore.
You act as though you’ve never seen, a semi truck before.
Left turns are a challenge, you won’t let me make a right.
I don’t think we can co-exist, unless it’s late at night.
Dear Driver, I agree with what you’ve said.
I can’t stand that constant pounding, underneath your tread!
I wish that I could hang a sign, that says, “Do Not Disturb.”
And maybe you could keep your tires, off my brand new curb!
Dear Dirt Road, as I stroll along your path.
I see the scars that you’ve endured, from Mother Nature’s wrath.
The grass invades your shoulders, and the potholes are severe.
I listen to your whisper, now, and this is what I hear:
Dear Vagabond, I know I haven’t got a name.
I’m narrow and I’m dusty, and I’m bumpy just the same.
That big new interstate out there, sure makes a lot of noise.
And I just couldn’t handle, all the traffic it employs.
The farmers use me now and then, I hear them pray for rain.
I do my best to guide them, through the amber waves of grain.
Before you make it back to town, please rest beneath my tree.
You’re a prisoner of the highway, and I’m here to set you free!