On purpose,
I bought this $500
nasty ass orange
1978 Ford F-100
Pickup Truck,
sight unseen,
off of a farm
in Middle Georgia.

“How ’bout this,
my test drive
for buying this truck
will be it’s ability
to make it from there,
to here.
No Deal?”

He arrived a couple of hours
later in this rusty,
farm truck
that I’m sure,
even his cows
were embarrassed by.

He had someone follow him up,
then drove him back
to the farm
with five big bills.

Because I am a simple man,
and find great pleasure
in the little things in life,
I felt like
I had just won
The Lottery!

It was gorgeous
for what it was.

An authentic farm truck
in the big city.

It was dirty.
Rust was falling off.
Cow tongue smudges
prohibited any possibility
of me seeing out
of the broken window.

I was proud.

Sensing my excitement,
friends gathered around
for it’s maiden trip
around town.

For me,
a celebration is not complete
without hats and musical instruments,
so we did it up good.

First stop,
was a fancy,
hoity-toity restaurant next door
with a drive through valet.

I’m sure my friends
were as petrified
as the Valet Team,
who were horrified
about what was clammering up
the ramp.

Farm trucks
apparently don’t require

I didn’t mean to,
but I pulled up to the Valet Stand,
leaned out the window,
with my straw farm hat on,
looked straight at the guy’s
left EAR,
and screamed
like a crazy man from Acworth:


jaja ja j ajja

If you ever want to
convince someone
that you are
dangerously crazy,
just stare at their
ear during the confrontation.

You would have thought
that I had pulled a gun
on those fit-car-running,
valet boys.

All I could do
was slam on the gas pedal
and whip out of there
before they called
Barney Fife.

We laughed.
And laughed.
And laughed.
And laughed.

I think it is important,
especially in this economy,
especially with everyone losing jobs,
changing careers,
letting go of houses,
stressing over money,
and starting completely over;
to celebrate
even the smallest

We can choose
how we deal with life.

It is our choice.

I had just gotten
rid of a nice car
that I realized
I could no longer afford.

I could have
cowered in embarrassment
over my loss of comfort
and status.

I could put that damn
ugly ass truck
up on a pedestal
and make it
the love of my life.

I chose love.

I bought me a gun rack
and put my Mother’s
Prized Twirling Baton Collection
in the back window.

I found a great old
Drum Major Trophy,
unscrewed The Dude
off the top of the Trophy,
and bolted him to the hood
as a hood ornament.

A friend who owns
an antique store
and installed for me,
an old green and white
Colorado License Plate:
GAY 269
on the front bumper.

FISHSTICK’s presence
in my life,
and in the community,
was far more fun,
and interesting,
than any
new-fangled vehicle
that I could
ever imagine driving.

This is where
our economy is going.

of our spirit
will come
with the transformation
of our minds.