NOTHING LEFT
Just hanging around this town
won't do'it anymore, for I've got
nothing left : the highway is for
travelers better use your sense?
They've got crosslights now hanging
where water used to be. Cars and
Harrier jets together zooming.
This land is your land, this land
is my land. Look! Look! Askance.
Up in the sky, its a bird, it's a
place, it's Callous Guy! Man I
hate your scheming guts. Once
my friend and I got to drinking,
far out in Pennsylvania, along
some God-awful river with its
turnings of gold, in a place called
the Bucket of Blood. We looked
around us and, considering we'd
be outnumbered, left the girls
alone and remained to ourselves.
Until the local Sheriff came in,
asking about the car. 'It's mine,'
I said. 'And you are who you are?'
I said I surely didn't understand.
(I still claim that was some sort
of audacious doublespeak he was
using on me). 'Take what you have
gotten from coincidence.' I told
him I was a gambler, instead of
the truth, which was that I actually
was a traveler, as was put initially.
He took us both in for 'malicious
wisecracking with intent to gel.'
We spent the night, paid 40 bucks
each the next day, as fines, got
a decent jail-meal for free, and
sped out of town. With glee.
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