I once knew an old truck driver
Who’d been drivin’ a rig all his life.
And he never knew a single worry.
Nor was he ever bothered with strife.
His life was oh so relaxin’.
As for stress, he just didn’t know it.
He had not a care in the world,
For he was a truck drivin’ poet.
When traffic was backed up for miles
And he was in a rush to get through,
Instead of getting all upset,
Here’s all he would ever do:
Into his citizens band radio mike
He’d recite a verse or two
Of Blake, Shelley, cummings, or Whitman.
To him any old poet would do.
Cuz it’s poetry that kept him so happy,
And kept his life completely carefree.
It’s poetry that taught him ’bout livin’,
And that life’s what he makes it to be.
But when he recited the oldies
The other truckers would always complain.
Cuz to them those old poets were so boring.
They made staying awake such a strain.
The truckers wanted poems with attitude—
Poems that would make them tap their toes.
They didn’t want to be bored and befuddled
By such pitilessly pretentious prose.
The Truck Drivin’ Poet wasn’t offended.
It happened to him all the time.
So he stopped recitin’ Ferlingetti
And started recitin’ poets who rhymed.
He recited poems that had rhythm,
And poems with discernible beats.
And soon the truckers were much happier
Than they had been while listening to Keats.
Now Keats, himself, had some rhythm
(And the truckers did give him a try).
But for them he was way too Romantic
And his poems just a little too dry.
What those truckers wanted to hear
Were poems with a lively, snappy tone.
Shel Silverstein pleased them the most.
Second were the Authors Unknown.
And what they wanted he’d sure try to give ’em.
Cuz all he ever wanted to do
Was to make them truck drivers happy
So they’d know not a worry, too.
For he knew truck drivin’ wasn’t easy—
It’s tough drivin’ a rig every day.
And that’s why he recited them poetry—
To help drive their troubles away.
From Poem Man