In ‘93 I was just sixteen, a man a child or in-between? Driving trucks was still a dream, and born was 10-4 Magazine.
In ‘94 while still in school, I found a rig I thought was cool. I built that old Freightshaker ride, and rolled to school with trucker pride.
In ‘95 I hammered down, and tossed aside my cap and gown. With high school in my rear-view mirror, I headed out to who knows where.
My very first time at Louisville, with lots of lights and polished steel. Big chrome stacks and mud flap chicks, that was way back in ninety-six.
Wanderlust, Lord I had plenty, in ‘97 I turned twenty. Holyfield would lend an ear, to Tyson’s appetite, that year.
The Seinfeld show would be no more, and diesel was a dollar-four. In ‘98 the world would learn, that Bill got caught with his intern.
And in my own relationship, I shared some vows and kissed her lips. I married that sweet girl of mine, in the summertime of ’99.
We were fed a great big scare, that planes would fall out of the air. Remember how we all freaked out, when Y2K came about?
The Towers fell and smoke would rise, tears fell from a million eyes. The world was changed for everyone, in September of two-thousand one.
Las Vegas dealt with fighting bikers, truckers caught the DC snipers. Do you remember Pepsi Blue? That was back in 2002.
A blackout in New England states, another shuttle met its fate. Harley turned a century old, sometime in 2003, I’m told.
Relief supplies came in by truck, when Rita and Katrina struck. YouTube’s born and Carson died, and that was in 2005.
In ‘06 I was blessed some more, to grace the pages of 10-4. And I admit that I was thrilled, to learn Saddam Hussein was killed.
L.A. fires were burning hotter, I-35 fell into the water. By the time two-thousand seven was completed, sulfur in our fuel was being deleted.
In 2008 I can still remember, becoming a 10-4 family member. A monthly page they offered me, to share my art and poetry.
Enter in two-thousand nine, the economy was in decline. Jobs were leaving by the scores, and Arrow Trucking shut their doors.
In twenty-ten I pressed my luck, I quit my job and bought a truck. The Gulf of Mexico was screwed, with tons and tons of thick black crude.
It was the year that SnapChat was created, and Bin Laden was eliminated. Two-thousand and eleven would prove, that America was back on the move.
Deeper in this poem I delve, I lost my dad in twenty-twelve. Hurricane Sandy hit the shore, Barak Obama’s back for more.
In twenty-thirteen we took a chance, truckers tried to take a stance. But protests on the DC belt, arguably were barely felt.
In 2014 ISIS came to power, we opened up the Freedom Tower. We filmed each other drenched with ice, and Robin Williams took his life.
Kyle Busch took the NASCAR cup, Kermit and the Pig broke up. Twenty-fifteen was moving at a break-neck pace, when Donald Trump entered the race.
Autonomous trucks had hit the scene, with a load of beer in twenty-sixteen. ELD’s were now required, to make sure we ain’t driving tired.
The eclipse of 2017, kneeling from the football teams. We could sit and wonder why, or just keep letting miles go by.
This year marks a milestone, oh how quickly time has flown. And on this 25th silver scene, congrats to 10-4 Magazine!