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."