{"id":10124,"date":"2026-09-11T07:19:12","date_gmt":"2026-09-11T14:19:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/?p=10124"},"modified":"2026-09-11T07:19:13","modified_gmt":"2026-09-11T14:19:13","slug":"frito-lay-delivery-driver","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/meditations\/frito-lay-delivery-driver\/","title":{"rendered":"Frito Lay Delivery Driver"},"content":{"rendered":"<!-- wp:themify-builder\/canvas \/-->\n\n\n<p>A purple and orange sunrise illuminates Coos Bay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A Frito Lay delivery driver, a young woman,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>wearing a ponytail<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>half a blue uniform,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>rolls up the squeaky back door,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>climbs inside the truck,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>goes to work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She&#8217;s delivering to my grocery store<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>every Wednesday morning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Elmer and I walk past every week.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>She occasionally nods.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I nod back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I&#8217;ve been writing a lot of poems of late.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Finding others forgotten, mothballed, frozen, stuck in the mud.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>One hundred and forty-five for this collection.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The image of a woman carting a tote of potato chips,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>a purple and orange sunrise glowing overhead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>screams silently for a poem.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I haven&#8217;t written a single poem in 30 years<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>about the working class.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Here is one staring me in the face<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>and I can see her face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>What do I know about the working class<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>to attempt a poem about them?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>American politicians know nothing of this delivery driver and her work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>American poets even less.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>We turn the corner at the tackle shop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>How did she become a Frito Lay&#8217;s delivery driver? What is the job like? What does it pay? How many hundreds of pounds of product does she carry into stores on her route?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>What about the woman down the block making donuts?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The woman in Subway slicing turkey and ham?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The meat cutter vaping something on a break?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The drywaller spackling paste?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The crew at the automotive repair shop up the block who fixed my car?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The elderly school bus driver driving her route?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The gas station attendant who plays Charlie Parker?<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>All these people are working within a hundred yards of me\u2014right now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I can see them at work.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Poets don&#8217;t write poems about them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Walt Whitman did. He celebrated their lives in wild verse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>No, I don&#8217;t care who they voted for President, or if they even voted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>That story has already been told by white sharecroppers who sided with plantation owners<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>and enlisted in the Confederate Army<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>or the Dust Bowl farmers who voted for Herbert Hoover and Wendell Willkie<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>and cursed the New Deal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>That&#8217;s a futile exercise in journalism<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>and sometimes I prefer mystery over journalism.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Not in this case.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>I want to meet this Frito Lay delivery driver,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>tell her I want to write a poem about her, the job.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Just walk up and introduce myself, Elmer,<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>take my shot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>A sunrise like this morning might help the cause.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>A purple and orange sunrise illuminates Coos Bay. A Frito Lay delivery driver, a young woman, wearing a ponytail half a blue uniform, rolls up the squeaky back door, climbs inside the truck, goes to work. She&#8217;s delivering to my grocery store every Wednesday morning. Elmer and I walk past every week. She occasionally nods. [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":10125,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1264,5,42],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-10124","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-coos-bay","category-meditations","category-poetry","has-post-title","has-post-date","has-post-category","has-post-tag","has-post-comment","has-post-author",""],"builder_content":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10124","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=10124"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10124\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":10126,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/10124\/revisions\/10126"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/10125"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=10124"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=10124"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nestuccaspitpress.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=10124"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}