to wear gallantly to Sunday night rodeo
where I expected to be met with some form of Southern hospitality
and maybe something distinctly American
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