The dreamy, indolent idea of the open road that leads endlessly to nowhere or anywhere ("dreamer's highway" as Big Crosby calls it in the film Going My Way) is irritatingly compromised by a big truck lodged right in front of you. It's like a rough menacing open hand that yells "Back off!" Some years ago, in 2007 I think it was, I published a slim volume of poems called Southwester. There was a poem in it called "Trucks." Here is the entire poem: "So many trucks on the 401 / It's like driving down / the main street / of a town that's moving with you." The only trucks I ever liked in aggregate were the ones in the 1978 Sam Peckinpah film, Convoy, with Kris Krisofferson..
