sweatin the small stuff
On Monday me and one of my coworkers had to drive a truck down to beautiful Springfield, Missouri to pick up some shit for the Man. I normally look forward too and dig driving trucks and shit but after the first fifty miles or so I turned to the cat next to me and said, “you got a CDL don’t you? Good, you can drive this muthafucker”.
Ryder went out of their way to make sure we were driving the biggest piece of shit truck they had on the fuckin lot. Between the top of the truck sounding like it was gonna blow off any minute, and the stinkin electronics going out and shit. And don’t even get me started on how slow the muthafucker was.
It was flat assed embarrassing when the mini van full of old blue hairs stopped listening to Paul Harvey long enough to flip us off as they blew past us at a lip peeling sixty miles an hour. But the drive back was real cool cause it was getting on toward evening and shit and we had the full moon as a driving companion.
I don’t know if it was the country air or what but the moon was huge. At times it seemed that if I could just stretch my arm out of the window far enough I could touch it. Another thing I dig is looking at all the farmhouses, especially at dusk. I always imagine everyone sitting down to a home cooked meal around the big table in the kitchen.
There’s Ma, wearing her apron and serving up supper and pa, just back from a long day in the fields and all the kids. I wonder what would happen if I just pulled over and knocked on the back door? Would they give me a country greeting and invite me in to sit a spell? Or would they just shoot my black ass up off their fuckin doorstep and slop me to the pigs? Such food for thought huh?
Another thing looking at all the farmhouses brought to mind. Remember back when you were a kid and you had this old mutt dog for a best friend and pet? And one day your father walked up and told your bed-wetting ass that Sparky’s gone,
“but daddy, why did Sparky have to go away?”
And your father told you that Sparky was in a better place cause he found a farm where old Sparky could run to his heart’s delight and chase rabbits and cows and shit? And you felt better cause even though your best pal was gone, he must be having the time of his life cause he had this huge farm to run around on and all kinds of neat shit to do.
Kind’a like cough cough doggy heaven. (hint) (hint). Well I got to thinking on all that and mentioned to the cat driving how wasn’t it something how so many Black father’s living in the inner city just happened to know all these muthafucker’s with farms?
All who were owned by kind old farmers more then happy to give shelter and a new home to any old hound that needed it? I mean like how often was it that whenever the family pooch went missing that the kid was told that it’s on a farm out in the country living large like a muthafucker. Fuck, that shit was so common that you figured somewhere there’s this one farm just full of hoards of the furry muthafuckers. How is Sparky anyway?
"and the monkey flipped the switch"