Big Mack

I have always been a trucker

I was raised on diesel fumes,

And I smoked two packs of Lucky’s

From daybreak to afternoons,

While I ate at roadside diners

From a plate that swam in grease,

And I downed two mugs of coffees

In my cab, the one I leased.

 

My Big Mack, my eighteen-wheeler

I once drove through western plains,

Then I hauled hogs out of Denver

And I shuttled freight to Maine,

And I kept my eyes wide open

As I popped those purple hearts,

I could feel my heart keep pounding

As I rolled beneath the stars.

 

It’s a great and grand old country

From New York to Idaho,

From the Rockies to Vancouver

And then down to Mexico,

And I’ve seen Tornado Alley

With a twister coming down,

And then through Louisiana

Where I’ve stopped, and gone to ground.

 

I was hauling hogs to Houston

Eighteen hours on the clock,

I was five hours past the limit so

I couldn’t fill my Log,

And the Bears were getting hairy

On the highway, going down,

I was too much in a hurry,

Took the rig the back way round.

 

It was getting on for midnight

And the night was more than black

As I found the off-road highway was

Just nothing but a track,

There were headlights in the distance

So I pulled off to the side,

Thought I’d wait for them to pass me

On that long and lonely ride.

 

But the lights approached me slowly

And they pinned me in their beam,

As I squinted through the darkness

Not believing what I’d seen,

So I flicked the headlights up again

To see what they revealed,

And it struck me like a pickaxe

That this ‘truck’, it had no wheels!

 

I sat frozen in my cabin

As this thing began to glow,

And it raised itself above me

Lit me up there, down below,

Then the eighteen-wheeler lifted

And without the slightest sound,

I was up there in the darkness

In the air, and looking down.

 

It could well have been a twister

Picked me up and flung me round,

I have seen whole trucks in twisters

Lifted up, clean off the ground,

But this thing that was above me

Took me on some drunken ride,

Skimming trees and fertile pastures

Shallow lakes and mountainsides.

 

It was some hallucination

From the pills I’d popped that day,

It was my imagination

Well I thought so, anyway;

But the cabin door flew open

And I leant out, looking down,

This was no imagination,

I was miles above the ground.

 

I slammed the door and took a slug

Of bourbon, of Jim Beam

That I’d hidden in the cabin,

All it did was make me dream,

With the pills, it must have hit me

As I crashed out in the cab,

And I didn’t wake ‘til morning

Frozen stiff, and feeling drab.

 

The Mack sat to its axles in

A field of pearl white snow,

A farmer looking up at me,

And willing me to go,

I asked him where I was, and then

I phoned the base, back home:

‘He said that I’m in Greenland!

Yeah! God-d****t! - Who would know?’

 

I smoke three packs of Lucky’s

Sometimes four, it all depends,

On whether I’ve passed out on Beam,

I’m not one to pretend,

I shudder when I see a rig

That night is with me still,

I never drive at night, and hey!

I bet I never will!

 

David Lewis Paget

Author's Note

This one for my American friends...

Reviews

[JM Russell]

This is funny. I could picture this so clearly since I've experienced the drive in the rig, It can be scary at night and when you have driven for hours your mind plays tricks. The drugs and booze add to the wildest of dreams. A state away would cause such yelling I can't imagine telling dispatch another country! Good job.

[David Scott]

I was suprized by your description of the American trucker. You penned this subject well.

[Extant]

*Laughs* It is so much fun to go on these poetic tales you tell. I should never under-estimate your range of inspiration or topics, as I am always reading something completely original when it comes to your pieces. So much fun to read, thank you, David.

[Robbie~xoxo~]

What a wonderful write!... a tale depicted well. I loved the meter and rhyme that flows throughout your poem. This piece was filled with suspense, mystery, and intense emotions... A great story!

[Tate Morgan]

Well I have been everywhere I can reach by land and io have seen some real strange things.And yes truck drivers of the 70s did pop pills.And I suppose they hallucinated as well from overwork. Your skills are really tested here as this is a foreign idea to you.Though I see the triple length behemoths of the Aussie outback and say what the heck they are just like us lol.

[Mark]

It just does not seem as though there is any field of endeavor that you are not conversant in, and can create verse at will upon! You completely rock, my friend!

[The Analog Kid]

This reminds me of the truckers in the 1970's popping pills and flying high. You are a great story teller through your metered poems. Glad to see you are back. Hope you are feeling better.

[Distant horizons]

Absolutely superb. You've got that whole "keeping the reader engrossed" thing, down to a tee sir.

[Baby Ricochet]

GZreat story, great poem

[Rob Santana]

hahaha,David Im a trucker 12 years in. I love this poem I can relate to alot of your writing. Let me tell you I've seen many strange things out the road in my 12 years on the road. The only thing is I drive a PETERBILT (PETE) ,HAHAHA this one is going in my favorites in my library,thanks for sharing this with me.