Listen and read-along with this fun poem by, Julian D. Woodruff.

My old Aunt Millie lives nearby.

Her truck is bound to catch your eye.

It’s painted yellow, blue, and green:

The strangest truck you’ve ever seen.  

         The truck bed holds a lot of junk:                 

Three stoves, a fridge, a worn-out trunk.

One headlight’s round, the other’s square; 

Things look peculiar in their glare.

The dashboard’s full of stale French fries. 

The tires are of unequal size.

The door handles both dangle down.

They rattle as Mill drives through the town.

The tailgate is all rusted through;

It’s held in place with super glue.

But that’s not even half of it—

You’ll watch that truck with eyebrows knit.   

Four heads, you see, has Millie’s heap.     

You don’t believe me? Take a peep

As it tools gaily down the road:

Along with its decaying load

Of old appliances, you’ll see

Four heads—and those four heads would be

Those of Aunt Millie’s canine pets,

Saints, Lions, Rams, and speedy Jets.

Three heads lean outward the right,

The other has to squeeze in tight

Behind Aunt Millie on the left.

You’ll note: that dog must be quite deft

To manage such a nifty trick.

He makes himself slim as a stick,

So Millie can control her crate

And keep it going arrow-straight.

Her dogs aren’t there just for the ride.

Each serves Aunt Millie as a guide

(or aide in time of dire need).

Saint checks the crosswalks on the way

And licks Aunt Mill, as if to say,

“Whoa, Millie! Let these people pass.

Wait—then you can step on the gas.”

And Lions roars (well…barks, I guess)

To help clear up a traffic mess:

All folks pull over right on cue,     

Allowing Millie to get through.

You can’t imagine one more loyal

Than old Rams: he checks the oil,

And when it’s low he adds a quart

Or two, or three, or more, for sport.

Jets is the best: he’ll make a run

For water when in sizzling sun  

They’re stuck on humid summer days.      

But once he earned their extra praise:

The gas gauge got so very low

That Millie was afraid to go

Another foot. And this was bad,

Because Mill and her doggies had

Three miles to drive to get to gas:

Beyond the nearest overpass

The station was. But Jets was game.

He sprinted his heart out and came

At last up to the filling pump,

He sat down upon his little rump,

Filled up the can he’d brought along,

In payment howled a little song,

Then dragged his heavy burden back

To Millie and her canine pack.

So now you know the reason why

When Millie and her truck pass by,

You’ll always see the heads of four

Fine doggies leaning out the door.    

THE END

About the Author

When he is not roaming around western New York State (much less colorfully than Aunt Millie), Julian D. Woodruff writes short fiction and poetry, much of it for children. His kids’ stuff resides on the Websites of Parody Poetry, Lighten Up Online, and The Society of Classical Poets. His narrative poems “The Barn” and “Hello Moon” are hosted on Aphelion Webzine and Reedsy, respectively. Frostfire Worlds issued his story “The Odd Dental Patient” in October, 2019.