PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

January, April, September, December. Any month of the year, since I can remember, he would drive to his office and work until night. Monday, wednesday and even sunday. Long lasting days where he would spend all available time. Anyone you asked would answer with same intention, that he was an honored and respected man with working problems. There was no chance he would miss his work, because there you could see he felt whole and complete. He would walk through the truck trailers’ path at the back of his office, and spend full hours worshipping his treasures. My dad once told me he had worked on this his entire life to get us where we are. A truly admirable person he was. For thirty years he had build his company to the top. People respected him much, they would start calling him “Don”. He was so trustful that even banks would loan him without a contract.
Black trailer, white trailer, blue trailer, green trailer; red and silver, gold and brown, any color you want. He had as many as a hundred at least. He would call them his babies, and care for them so much, he would at times wash some himself. Based on his eleven children, he named twelve of his trailer trucks with their names. The extra one was a buried child of his who died minutes after his birth. His symbol was all over the long roads, and on linens too. He had come up with his own name design for his company, called ATM and with a subunit called ATP. It was such a big enterprise, unbelievable to know it was ran by a single man. At times, he would take me to long trips in one of his favorite and most sophisticated truck trailer, in which there was a huge bed with a bathroom, at the back. He would call me little marshmallow, and introduce me to all his greasy workers, trailer men. Because of the fact I was the youngest from the youngest son, I was always there playing with my snow white dress. I remember my parents getting upset because I covered myself all over with truck grease. He would just laugh and take me instead horseback ridding to the bottom of his office where all the truck wastes were.
When I see a truck trailer, I remember his face, no trouble or worry would change his way. He was one of the best from which I fortunately learned. All I can say since the day that he left is how much my grandfather filled up my whole world. Now I’m curious to know where his truck trailer drove, because whatever road he took, I want to follow there too.