Who doesn’t love a nice-looking rig? There are plenty of them out there. Some people argue that a fancy rig won’t make you any more money, and some people argue that they actually do! But, what about ugly rigs? I don’t mean the cookie-cutter plain-Jane fleet truck kind of ugly – I mean the old and greasy, tattered and scary, weather-beaten type of rigs that still jar the spines of their stubborn, independent, gear-wrenching owners. Do they deserve any love? I argue, yes. They have earned their stripes. They may not be as gorgeous as they once were, and they are clearly older than their intended replacements, but with a little extra care and time, they still get the job done (still referring to the trucks, not necessarily the owners). Trucks used to be built to last and drivers were up to the task – they recognized the value of proper maintenance. “Treat ‘er right, and she’ll treat you right” is a not-so-common phrase anymore. Unfortunately, it seems that trucks are not built to last, even with the best maintenance, these days. This poem is for the good old stubborn ugly trucks that keep on truckin’ and just won’t quit. The ones that scare old ladies and set off car alarms in town. The ones with greasy hubs, rusty stacks, leaky fuel caps and the smell of hot oil. The kind of weather-beaten trucks with a face that only a truck-nut could love. This one is for the Ugly Truckling. It is intended to be from a driver to his truck, but if you read it again, it also works the other way, too! Enjoy!!
By Trevor Hardwick
You won’t do nuthin’, unless I turn you on,
I get things goin’, and you’re up and gone.
You ain’t what momma calls, “mild and meek,”
You only get a bath, about once a week.
You’ve got them blisters, and a weathered face,
You move a bit slower, than an old snail’s pace.
But that don’t matter, cuz’ I love you so,
And I’ll stick with ya’, anywhere you go.
When I start thinkin’, you’re about to croak,
I keep on pushin’, while you’re blowin’ smoke.
You’re so dang big, you’ve got two rear-ends,
And you ain’t worried, ‘bout makin’ friends.
You’re old and wrinkled, and you look like Hell,
And don’t get me started, on the way you smell.
You’re stubborn in the morn’, when out all night,
People start to thinkin’, I don’t treat you right.
You don’t seem to care, where you take a leak,
You’re slimy and shaky, and your shoes all squeak.
That’s what people talk about, when you pass by,
To love a thing like that, it takes a special guy.
But all these years together, and we’re still right here,
Neither one of us, should ever face a mirror.
Little Ugly Truckling, how I love you so,
Now please just fire-up, so we can finally go!