The Enamored Trucker to His Swain
Come live with me and be my love,
And we shall many splendors see:
Valleys, groves, hills, docks, and fields
All seen through a stained windshield.
And we shall spy the limpid creek,
While at the shepherd’s herd we’ll peek,
Who shallow rivers throng and seek,
‘Cause, Baby, I’m your truckin’ freak!
And I shall show thee plots of soil,
Where sedentary farmers toil,
And many glistening, effulgent foils,
Which reminds me, Love, go check the oil!
And we shall many truck stops see,
Where fetid, filthy toilets be,
To which ungentrified highways lead.
I said before thou shouldst have peed.
And greasy food on soggy trays
And country music’s merciless lays
Are to abound each night and day
In a lavish, ample, rich buffet.
And I shall drench thee with prepackaged food,
Of the best quality wist or viewed,
With plenteous gouts of suet and grease,
To feed two hundred gaggles of geese.
The teamsters’ swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each fall and spring:
If these delights make good drama,
Then live with me, my truckin’ mama!