Truck driver

Casey at the Wheel

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mud-Flap Nine that day

There were three full loads and just two trucks, one hour to go

And when Cooney called in sick, and Barrows did the same

A sickly silence fell upon the dispatchers on the floor


One straggled to the water cooler in despair. The other

clung to that hope that springs eternal in a businessman’s soul

They thought, if only one driver could make it back to the yard at that

They’d make a bit more money for Mud-Flap Lines improving all their stats


But Flynn was in Montana, in Dakota was Jimmy Blake

And the former was a lulu, and the latter was a flake

So upon the stricken dispatch crew grim melancholy did hit hard,

For there seemed but little chance of all those loads making it out the yard


But O’Hare drifted in without notice, ready for the one long haul

And Johnson, much despised, actually did show up after all

And when the despair had lifted and the crew had saw what had occurred

O’Hare was in the big Freightliner, and Johnson in the Mac


And then from 12 admin people there rose a lusty yell

It rumbled down the hallway (past the bathroom with that awful smell)

It travelled to yard edges, rebounding like a puck

For Casey, Mighty Casey, had just pulled in with his truck


There was ease in Casey’s gait, as  he stepped down from his cab

There was pride in Casey’s bearing, as he smiled just a tad

And when, responding to the cheers, he had such winsome appeal

No stranger in the crowd could doubt, ‘twas Casey at the Wheel

Two dozen eyes were on him as he swept his hands across the steel

Five women all were fainting when he kicked his boot upon the wheel

And when the yardman thrust upon him a manifest for one more trip

They saw the calm in Casey’s eyes, while tight denim hugged his hips


From the office, full of people, up went a ruffled roar,

Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore

“Take it! Take the load!” shouted one near one old wreck

Casey raised his manifest to feet stomping on the deck


With a smile of Christian charity great Casey’s visage shone

He stilled the rising tumult; “The show it must go on!”

He signaled to the manager, who opened up the gate

And Casey was all ready, to go and get his freight


“Oh my”, cried the one dispatcher, with more echos of ‘oh my’

A worried look from Casey and the crowd became uptight

They saw his face grow stern and cold, a look of some disdain

But they knew Casey – ‘our Casey’ – would overcome this pain.


But a  sneer appeared on Casey’s lip, his teeth all clenched in hate

He pound the door in violence and cursed his cruel fate

And with the truck not moving, still wanting to make it go

He jumped back in his seat but a Safety still said ‘NO!”


Oh , somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright

They are using trucking software and their hearts are much more light

And somewhere men are crying, somewhere shippers shout

But there is no joy at Mud Flap Trans… The Mighty Casey just timed out!