Letter To Jim Poem by James Cayce

I had written him a letter, kept it brief, thought it better
then sent it to the depot where I'd met him years ago.
He was a truckie when I knew him but what it was that drew him
to that thankless job I'm sure I'll never know.

And an answer came inflected with a sadness I detected
(and Ithink the same was written with the dipstick of a car)
T'was his missus Kate who wrote it and verbatim I will quote it
'Some men in white coats took him and we don't know where he are'

His life was always chancy, there was none of the romance he
dreamed of when he started in that caper way back then.
Just deadline after deadline and a life spent on the breadline
and the bosses all complaining that the load was late again.

But the bush townsfolk would greet him and his trucking mates would meet him
they'd spin yarns around the campfires and country hotel bars.
For he's seen the vision splendid of a weighbridge unattended
at night the wondrous glory of a highway without cars.

There are still times, on a whim, visions come to me of Jim
still driving like a demon down the Parramatta Road
With his tired old Mac complaining and his tie-down straps all straining
trying to complain his wildly listing load.

Now, I'm sitting in the gloom of my rubber-padded room
and I'm thinking on those days with some regret.
But they say with meditation and the proper medication
I'll be going home one day, but not just yet.

For those grey nomads still daunt me and their pallid faces haunt me
(just their very mention still reduces me to tears)
And the nightmares when the day goes of those bloody Winnebagos
and caravans will torment me for years.


Then, some days I'll sit for hours pulling petals off the flowers
pondering the fate of poor old Jim
till the nurses come and find me and quietly remind me
that I was once a truckie, just like him.