Made a home in
The County of Emmet
The smell of another Lucky Strike
As you’re trucking, state lines in the rear view

You made the trip down
Took you over to the field
To watch them circle the bases
Spring of ’01, the last time I’d see you in health

Made your arrangements
Buried you a block away
78 of Nemaha, right over on 6th street,
The paper read

Time of Day mid-afternoon
The smell of a Texas June
I’m sleeping in a car,
The news is crossing state lines, impedes my innocence

I learned about selfishness and mortality
As the youngest of the grandkids
Just trying to find a spot to sleep in your basement
I never heard your stories about the war

I'm lost in the city
But I'm taking my time
The streets keep talking to me
They're asking how everyone can spend so much time looking down and straight ahead
When a whole world grows rapidly above them

Buildings grow into the stars
A new styled solar system
They dance among the clouds
Wisping fluffs of greys and whites
When I look, I know that I want to be where it all connects

I am gliding down hills
I am fumbling through crosswalks
I am slipping past street signs
because I can't keep my feet on the ground and my head from that new world

Skyscrapers and green fields
The opposite of what I had pictured it to be
No dry grass or cactuses
But suddenly a tornado struck Dallas
And we were stuck at the hotel
We were like "oh well!"
No complains, just smiles
Didn't tip the valet guys
Sorry fellas, we're not used to your system yet
The next time we won't forget!
Stopped at Dairy Queen for a banana split
It's too late anyway to try to stay fit
They played the Banjo song from Deliverance
and some gentlemen with Cowboy hats started to dance
Finally I got to see the stereotypes
in the land with the stars and stripes
We missed our turkey but saw some coyotes instead
On every road armadillos lay dead
Waved good bye at the border of New Mexico
Hated to see us leave but loved to watch us go

The mariachi band
Is playing dizzyingly
Next to our table
The guitarists
Hair wetly slicked
Back

"We live off of
Tips sir,
Anything
Will help.
Now, something
Romantic for
Your woman"

When they are
Finished their frantic
Strumming
I had him a
Folded 5

They dash off
To the next
Table

I slug a pounder
The beer inside is
Warm and the water
That runs through
The city is the
Same color as the
Water in Disney
World
Dyed that sickly
Turquoise grey

Tour boats cut
Small waves that
Lap the sidewalks
And the fat tourists
Feed tortilla chips to
Swarming clouds
Of small brown
Birds

Another warm
Swallow of beer
And the sunglasses
Perched in my
Greasy hair

Who needs a
******* job
Give me warm
Beer and sickly
Fake water and
A table with her