They cross the country
with 500 horses under the hood.
Those turnpike cowboys
trailing trailers like a train.
They slouch behind the wheel
with a million miles under the belt.
They curse the casual driver,
drifting, darting daredevils,
who know not how to drive.
They stop to fuel up
at those truck stops along the way.
The super stops with Mickey D's
and showers,
lot lizards in the park.
Or the Mom and Pop's,
with biscuits and gravy buffet
and a honey wagon out back.
They run the roads
night and day.
Watching the constant concrete trail.
knowing all commerce could quit
if they did.