10-4 Magazine / May 2026 73 Poetry in Motion: By Trevor Hardwick FOOTIN' THE BILL Throwin’ on the Jake Brake, And quickly gearing down. I rolled into a work zone, In a sleepy little town. I noticed all those hard hats, Layin’ asphalt in the street. Paving ways, for honest pay, So their families can eat. Someone’s gotta do it, And I doubt it’s for cheap thrills. It’s the workin’ classes payin’ taxes, Always footin’ the bill. Further up the road, I saw a little bit more proof. A house with several workers, Who were puttin’ on a roof. Layin’ down the shingles, In the blistering summer sun. I can’t imagine any of them, Having too much fun. Someone’s gotta do it, And I doubt it’s for cheap thrills. It’s the workin’ classes payin’ taxes, Always footin’ the bill. Then, I passed an old John Deere, That was cuttin’ through a eld. Kickin’ up a ton of dust, For a disappointing yield. To be honest, I’m not exactly sure where the inspiration for this poem came from. I was just rolling up and down the west coast and thinking about the pounding that my truck and my body were taking while enduring the broken roadways along my route. I was thinking about the taxes we pay to maintain these roads and the repairs we pay for when things are damaged from the pounding. Also, the cost of repairing our broken bodies from the years of enduring such abuse. The cost of maintaining nice equipment, the fuel, tires, oil, insurance, etc... it’s all on us. The cost of maintaining the roads... also on us. And the list of expenses grows and grows. But it’s not just the professional truck driver taking the burden alone – it’s the entire working class – those who show up to work and push themselves to the limit in order to feed their families and pay for those who won’t. I suppose I was just thinking about those of us who take a bit of pride in what we do, while being generous with our spoils. And we don’t have the luxuries of the elites or the leeches. We’re the American Working Class, out here living the dream... gettin’ it done... and footin’ the bill. State and federal regulators, Twistin’ on his arm. He’s been trying everything, To save the family farm. Someone’s gotta do it, And I doubt it’s for cheap thrills. It’s the workin’ classes payin’ taxes, Always footin’ the bill. The paving crew, the roofer too, The farmer in the Deere. Each as vital as the next, Like teeth upon a gear. Folks like that are working class, A rare and dying breed. And each rely on truck drivers, To bring them what they need. Someone’s gotta do it, And I do it for cheap thrills. Left lane passes, polish, waxes, And never standing still... UNTIL... I pull into the truck stop, Just to top-o both the tanks. To do the deed, I just might need, To rob a couple banks! But this country moves on 18-wheels, And those wheels gotta roll! The constant beatings that we take, Begin to take their toll. Someone’s gotta do it, And it ain’t always cheap thrills. It’s the workin’ classes payin’ taxes, Out here footin’ the bill.
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