Culture

I bought fraud leather at a dusty secondhand store in Abilene

to wear gallantly to Sunday night rodeo

where I expected to be met with some form of Southern hospitality

and maybe something distinctly American

to photograph.

Dad told me all about it, an author of US history. 

He said: "Brace of a smattering of Culture"

My hands on the wheel of a Time Machine; a volvo

I barely noticed San Antonio’s florescent jungle disintegrate behind me

into a bright period on the horizon

If nothing else to serve as a testament 

to the safety of 2009

With nothing more than twenty-eight miles

I clapped as the radio yielded 

to the distant crackling of a strange chair

and the bruised country emerged

with visions of strange men on horses