Truck’n

He crashes every day,

And his driving record remains spotless.

His windshield is not.

Eighteen wheels and a pot of coffee.

Red bull, sunflower seeds, and a truck stop hot dog,

All float the gears of indigestion.

One hundred gallons

And a reservoir of Bug-B-Gone.

The engine growls idle

Threats of speed.

Restless in its chute

And flanked by pumps.

The truck beats its hooves

At the starting line.

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