By: C.L. Miller
Poetry
To the untrained eye, a semi probably looks like a huge, awkward animal blundering across the land. It makes wide turns and choppy starts and noisy stops. It is tall and wide and seems out of proportion. It looks difficult, almost scary, to handle in tight spaces. Most civilians give trucks a wide berth, as if they expect a stampede.
To the observant, it is a much different picture.
We dodge barricades and other vehicles on the highway with the ease of an athlete on the field. In truck stops we glide smoothly (potholes notwithstanding) past our fellow Drivers like ships in a harbor. With a twist of a wrist we can back into a space mere inches bigger than our truck without fluffing a leaf.
I was sitting on the fuel island late one night, watching the other trucks as they maneuvered around each other in the lot. It was a dance, perfectly choreographed without any instructions from the sidelines. It was controlled freestyle. It was beautiful.
We are poetry in motion.