A LONG PRAIRY ROAD

A slow drunken sunrise
stumbled blindly down a windy dirt road;
gently pushin the sun atop an old Chevrolet pick-up truck.
It´s ass,,, was haphazardly backed into the woods.
Why, it looked like an old Bull-Walrus
sleepin off a holy rage.
Drops of condensation slid devilishly
along the fenders.
They was belly surfing
and smilin up at the dawnin day.
Big block motor from Detroit
still piss warm after a long night
drivin through the back roads
of the Missisippi basin.

“Hey Yankee-boy,
Looks to me like it´s a
mighty fine day for dyin.
What you think?”

---------PAUSE-------

“Cat got your tongue Yankee-Boy?"
"That don´t matter,,,
I´ll probably pull it out anyhow."
"Never did like that damn Yankee-jabba.
Makes me real mean and nasty.”

Don´t ask me where, why or how .
I guess I was thirsty.
so I stopped into a small gin-joint
past a broken Stop-sign.
They must have smelled me coming.
All eyes was on the door by the time I entered.
I met them head-on,,, one, by one, by one.
I walked up to the bar, my knees was shakin.
I ordered a large whiskey.
Maybe it was a bit too large.

“Don´t know as I can serve you Yankee-Boy.”

“Oh Leroy, don´t be so darn ornery,
Give this haaaandsome young man a drink.”

“Buella-May, if you was´nt sherrif Jo-Bobs wife,
I´d bounce you right on out of here myself
along with you´re handsome Yankee-boy.”

My whiskey went down fast.
I bought one more.
Buella-May´s hot, moist breath,
licked up and down my ears and throat.
The heat rose by ten degrees.
Buella-May asked me what I was doing
in this waste-hole of a town.
I told her that was a long story.
I lied.
The real story was short and sweet.
I was one step ahead of my past,
it was catching up to me though.

After that,,,a whiskey train hit me
like a golden hammer.
BANG, BANG, BANG, one after the other.
Maybe it was all part of the plan.
I don´t know.
Just like I can´t tell yu
where Buella-May´s hot breath tapered out
and her long slinky legs began.

I do know one thing though.
I woke up this morning
in the back of a pickup truck
on a long and windy road in Missisippi.
My hands and my feet are
bound up tight with strong rope
and the words still ring in my ears……

“Hey Yankee-boy,
Looks to me like it´s a
mighty fine day for dyin,
what you think, Ha, Ha, Ha!!!"