I sipped at coffee, black and cold

  Listening to two recount things of old

  They spoke with pride, aloud and bold

  Of the things in life which they did behold

  One is dying of cancer, long and slow

  He had 6 months, 25 months ago

  He shared with me his lonesome woe

  By naught but his words I was held in tow

  He spoke of work, when he could run the road

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  He detailed hundreds of 53-footers towed

  A life spent well, sampling products of his load

  To his friend and me, he sang this wistful oad

  Time had passed swiftly, perhaps an hour

  The dying trucker, his face became sour.

  His aging continence did start to dour

  And he shared his regrets to those of our

  Times long gone, Twas the wild west

  A time when all truckers had their best

  No electronic logs which dictated rest

  Without corporate masters slavish behest

  He spoke of things I've never known

  A time when a man could be his own

  Across the continent, he could sow

  The seeds to which he'd one day grow

  He spoke of mountain trails and loads taken from rails

  He spoke of foods with real flavor and delights he did savor

  He spoke of Louisiana rain and the old men who did he train

  He spoke of rare greasy spoons and breathtaking full moons

  He spoke of the fall of this land, the inherent flaws within man

  Ugly beast of corporate greed, to which men must now heed

  At the end he spoke of his failing strength

  The wasting tax cast by slow death

  The need to no longer prove himself

  And the drain upon his slipping health

  He had seen the last glory days

  With his two eyes of saddened grey

  No more to look forward to today

  "For me now, it is too late to change."