The Red Truck Blues

(Owed to Arlo & Alice's Restaurant
and the state vehicle inspector)

That time of the year, yes indeed, was near,
To get my old red truck inspected.
I said, "No sweat", 'cause on her I'd bet,
But then she got soundly rejected.

The guy was real sticky (far too picky)
So my old truck he really dissected.
He directed my view to a thin brake shoe
That his old feeler gauge had detected.

With a look quite haughty, as if I was naughty
In a tone bureaucratically inflected,
He said, "Fix those brakes with whatever it takes",
He'd check again, once I'd had them corrected.

There was no point in fussing or reverting to cussing
By a state law he was fully directed.
To order me down to a shop in my town
To fix something I'd barely neglected.

I wanted to stand and oppose his demand;
"You know, my safety’s just not affected.
For I drive on back roads, with only light loads
I’d never push brakes slightly defected."

But no chance had I in budging that guy
So I drove home rather dejected.
Got my shop manual out, while cursing the lout
Wondering what parts store should be selected.

I hate brake shoe jobs, with Jesus springs in gobs,
This is work I have never elected.
‘Cause a spring always sprang; "Oops, oh dang"
And in the air another "Jesus!", I've injected.

The work gave me a fit, as I swore and I spit
But a brake job I finally erected.
With no fancy gear, I did it right here!
I did it simple, not at all high-techted.

I drove my truck back, showed him it now had no lack
"Check my brakes", they were no longer infected.
He said not a word, still pulled the drum, the turd
Then passed me, but again he collected.