How to See the World and Never Leave Texas

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And Do it In Rhyme to the Beat of Time

Just a few miles west of an incestuous mess,
A mud ball they call Arkansas,
Gettin’ down and dirty along I-30
There’s Boston, son.
It ain’t much to view
But it’s always New
I hear you can eat beans there, too.

Then jump in your car, ‘cause it ain’t too far
Before Paris lights pierce the black of the blackest Texas nights.
It’s Paris…Texas, I says
It’s a little bigger
But ya gotta figure,
With as many parasites (chiggers) as Parisites,
It’ll never rival the City of Lights.

Then head back south a mile or twenty
Through land of cattle and corn aplenty
And I swear to y'all, you’ll run smack into Bogata.
Actually, it’s not Bogata a-tall
Not one iota! It’s said, "Buh-goat-uh!"
Oh, they’re special spellers,
Them east Texas fellers.

Meander southward still and a little west,
It ain’t much time you gotta invest
Before you stumble into the Athens of the west.
The home of the first burger they say
So, it’s grease, not Greece,
But hey, Kick off yer boots and stay
At least a minute anyway.

Go north and west towards Big D
As sprawlin’ a sprawlin’ Metropolitan
As you’ll ever see.

Just plow on through or go around
Gridlock like you’ve never found
To the eternal city – or a town called Rhome
With an added “h” so it looks like home.

Now don’t break out or start to pout
But the next leg of this drive is 35
Southward toward Austin, where
They keep it weird
And way too Blue, Just as you feared.
Veer to the right and soon you’ll see
Florence, but you’re not in Italy.

Now, do your best to turn back North and a little West
Don’t find the shortenin’ of the trees too troublin’
You’re doin’ fine and soon you’ll find
The West Texas version of Dublin
It’s rattlesnakes and tumbleweeds and not an Emerald Isle.
But they’ve taken their hit, got plenty of grit, and a similar fightin’ style
Besides, no one ever made a better Dr Pepper.

That's it, I guess,
And I gotta confess,
It all sounds pretty much like a mess
Which is, after all, the world in a nutshell
Parked in Texas, right north of Hell.

This poem did not make the new book, Moonshine Love, mainly because I found it collecting dust in a file on my computer, one I haven’t opened in at least three years, according the file dates.

That’s ok—by itself it’s a world tour, and ain’t that fine?

‘Til next time,
Keep it between the lines.