If I Were a Truck

I would be an 18-wheeler, all green
candy-flake and chrome, Lalique
wingéd nymph on the hood. Not much
rust. I would be hauling refrigerated
steer carcasses, steel drums heavy with
liquid death, hidden bales of marijuana.
My driver would be red-haired, hairy-
armed, armed and dangerous; Glock .45
and 3 days’ worth of crystal meth.

I would be coming from Cuernavaca
headed for Utah by way of Abilene,
toward 5 illegal wives that my driver
brags about in chat rooms, and 11 kids,
3 of which are not his but he will never
find out. I want to be his suburban split-
level home, his Suburban, his split-second
decision to leave this fucked-up life
behind, straighten up and fly right. Right.
I want to be his bar fight tonight,
his shots of bourbon, straight up.

©2005 F.J. Bergmann

"If I Were a Truck" appeared in Margie #6.


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