I do trucks and dirt
And beer at night
and start again
all the same.
in this old game.
Day in day out
and half the night,
there’s no respite
No rest from something
that we love.
Ordained by someone
‘Course there’s others
down below feed hell
and brimstone where we go
battlin’ ‘gainst the odds that flow.
Tsunami waves of grief and pain
achieving where few others gain
in our day to day.
As we contend with rates and taxes,
attitudes and cultural laxes
and hell and brimstone flows before, surfin’
Up, upon a shore of life as most ‘aint seen before.
And “ya life” won’t ever be the same as
As life rolls on in this ‘ol game,
of rock ‘n roll and shiftin’ freight
and whomsoever knows the date
of the next disastrous quake.
Where all will level out before
No doubt to be continued.
If you like my poems . . .