Old Truckers Knew by John Patrick Robbins


The place reeked of decay and diesel fuel.
The smoke hung heavy in the air and the food had enough grease in it to clog your arteries and get your car a few miles down the road.

And from waitresses to the truck stop queens the place seemed to exist outside of modern times and I sure as hell fit in better here than the local yuppie infested Starbucks.

The waitress took your order and called you honey.
A flirt and something to fill your gut and soothe your soul.
In a company of men whom knew the highway and the emptiness it leaves behind.

To the lot lizards looking for a quick buck and the ever dingy scene where the only thing that changes is the weather.

Old truckers knew the best places to stop and pass the time.
It’s the price they paid with age and the miles behind.
I was there for only a while I sat in my car watched the headlights fade into the night never wondering where they may go.

We all are just passing through this life.
Old truckers knew the stories and kept most to themselves.
And understood  that the best comfort is silence at times and the engines hum.

Nobody can explain the highways appeal to a soul who has every reason to stay.
It’s like when you sit at the counter of a greasy spoon lock eyes with someone and simply nod.

It’s a shared knowledge for those of us that could have not left a moment sooner.

We are all chasing something it seems.


©2018 John Patrick Robbins


Follow John

John Patrick Robbins is often referred to as an outlaw poet, whose work is a glimpse into life’s darker side and often barroom based. His work has been published with Inbetween Hangover, The Red Fez, Spill The Words, Ramingos Porch, Your One Phone Call, The Outlaw Poetry Network, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Poets Community, And also read online at hello poetry. His work is always a hundred percent unfiltered.


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