Some Place That Used To Be
It’s some place that used to be
Where all things would fall twixt—
A beat, battered, broken shell
Off old Route 66.
He rode a Silverado
That was a dusty gold,
His clothes were worn and ragged—
Their style was odd and old.
They watched him as he walked in
To Wally’s Waffle Place—
With silver spurs that jingled,
A hat that hid his face.
He strolled up to the counter
And placed two gold coins there—
“I’ll take a big heap,” he said,
“Of yer fine dinin’ fare.”
Well, he sat down on a stool—
Pulled makin’s from his vest—
“No smokin’!” growled the waitress,
“This here ain’t the Old West!”
Well, the stranger tipped back what
Looked like a cowboy hat
And then slowly rolled his smoke
And grinned just like a cat.
“I don’t mean no disrespect,
But this here’s open range—
Though I must of wandered off,
‘Cause you folks sure is strange.
“See, I had to leave my hawse
When he done pulled up lame—
Then found that hawseless carriage—
Got me here all the same.”
It’s some place that used to be
Where all things would fall twixt—
A beat, battered, broken shell
Off old Route 66.
“Seems some things has changed ‘round here—
They caught the James Gang, yet?
And how ‘bout Wild Bill Hickok?
He’s still real fast, I bet!
“And what ya hear of Custer
And all of his good friends?
Heard he’s clearin’ our country
Of all the Indians!
“Reckon I’m out of touch some—
Been ridin’ ‘round so long—
It feels like forever
And that now I don’t belong.”
The waitress stared – told the cook
To dial up 911—
She knew something was not right
With this old cowboy son.
“Now, we don’t want no trouble,”
She stated in soft words—
“But all I want is my grub,
‘Fore I rides to the herd.”
“Say, mister – you all right?” that
Waitress asked all concerned,
But then she saw his six gun—
“Well, now I’ll be goll-derned!”
Then that cowboy disappeared—
The Silverado gone—
With tire tracks toward the desert,
Lost in the purple dawn.
And so all the legends go—
But these are just the facts:
They say they found that old truck,
Then just a horse’s tracks.
So when you go to Wally’s—
If that’s what you must do—
You’ll find a deserted shack
Closed in 1992.
It’s some place that used to be
Where all things would fall twixt—
A beat, battered, broken shell
Off old Route 66.
Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2007
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