the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Tag: have no idea

Strong Wind Blows Over Truck

After deleting my last three posts for various reasons, I needed a way to win my readership back.    While eating my eggs and toast at the Dominican Coffee Shop this morning, I saw this news item on the TV about a truck being blown over on the highway by the wind.   Perfect!  Why write about something that interests people, like the Oscars, when you can write a bad Dr. Seuss-type poem about a truck blowing over on the highway?!

Strong Wind Blows Over Truck

A man, a woman, or even a truck
They all have days that really suck

Cause heavy winds blow all the same
Without a care for height or name

The wind’s a bully, his toy the road
He loves to torment the weighty load

He loves the fiery and noisy crash
The glass a-shattering, the tire slash

The ticking and tocking of the bomb
The tension of the sudden calm

And then the clicking of the timer
The wind’s a movie by Jerry Bruckheimer

Poor, poor truck lying on his side
Middle of highway, nowhere to hide

Like a sleeping baby taking a rest
But maybe, just maybe, it’s for the best

Who drives so fast in the pouring rain?
Only the crazy and those in pain

Kingman, Barstow, San Bernadino
Take a break and drink some vino

Visit the waitress in Albuquerque
The one with the smile that’s slightly quirky

Stay the night, don’t walk the line
The wind will fade, the sun with shine

And then you’ll be back on the road
To tell the others of this ode.


One of the reasons I feel relatively comfortable meeting other bloggers, is that I am under the assumption — and this theory requires a leap of faith which requires that I accept the innate goodness of man — that if an individual can tie words together and make a sentence that communicates a thought, image, or sensation, it means that he has adequate control over his mental faculties, and that he is not crazy, or at least not dangerous, or at least medicated enough to be acceptable to society, but not medicated too much where he just stares at the monitor like a drooling zombie from the Dawn of the Dead.

I make this announcement, presenting it to all you, my dear colleagues on the blogosphere — fellow writers, satirists, and raconteurs — in case you ever read anything I write, and loudly say to yourself, or to whoever is nearby in your office cubicle or home kitchen, “Holy shit, this guy is f**king nuts!” (editors note: Although if you have children doing their algebra homework at the kitchen table, you probably won’t be say “f**king nuts!” but “completely nuts!” out of respect for raising your children in a manner deemed appropriate to mannered society).

Whether you say “nuts” with or without the “f**king,” my response to you, virtual friend, is the same — please, for the love of goodness and sunny days, don’t worry about me. If I am writing, and the paragraphs align and the verbs and nouns seem happy together, sidling together like two canoes floating down the river, or like two young lovers reaching in anticipation for that moment of first pleasure, be assured that things are going well enough in my life that I can successfully accomplish that achievement.

Only worry about me when I am not writing. That means





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