Americana
A patriotic bunting, hanging from a porch,
black lines of a Model-T, back when we liked Ford,
porcelain sign from the 30s, somehow ad and art,
the fun and fear we got from tossing a lawn dart.
Rich, decadent milkshakes upon a summer’s eve,
chrome diner with a neon sign, hawking things to eat.
county band playing loud, line dancers shuffle round,
fire-house’s noonday whistle’s echoing sound.
Cowboy silhouette leans up against the porchside,
slender lighthouse standing tall above the high tide,
Lady Liberty upright on a license plate,
barbeque smoke beaconing, the meat will taste so great…
Biker’s clad in black leather, touring country roads,
kids muck around in the woods, searching for a toad,
bolo ties that shouldn’t work, but somehow they do,
western boots that click-and-clack when you’re coming through.
Blue jeans are the uniform, pairs with everything,
skies at night in July with bright colors burning,
small ballparks in every town, man that boy can pitch,
hammocks hung in the backyard, damn mosquitos itch!
You many not have to like a man, but you’ll like his dog,
drive-in theater with your date, somehow not yet lost,
winchester that your granddad owned, you still use to hunt,
RV cruising the country, won’t stop ’till it’s done,
cabin built of ancient logs, painted brown and green…
I love Americana, it always keeps its sheen.
Copyright ©
David Welch
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