Another Ignoble Death

The old truck sits in at the edge of the woods,
a thing of history, barely recognizable for all its rust and decay.
Little of the paint remains untouched by wear.

Someone has taken potshots at the remains.
bullet holes scar the windshield.
One headlight has exploded from the impact.

The truck was once a beast of industry.
Built strong, it carried burdens too heavy for others,
its steel and iron seeming invincible

Until of course, it wasn’t. When neglect and wear
left it broken, its value no longer enough to warrant care.
Abandoned. Replaced, it’s corpse hauled to the edge of the woods

to quietly disappear.

About this poem

A poem about an old truck in a truck graveyard near Petersburgh, NY, and about people.

Tom