And now, a poem

August 17^th 

 

Maybe I’ll come see you 

August 17th 

I’ll drive through dusty cotton fields 

Double Mountains in my view 

 

I’ll see the water tower rising 

Looking down 

On your little town 

I’ll hear cocks crowing 

They’ll be ready for the fight 

 

I’ll drive by your house and see you 

Standing in the yard 

Can of beer in your left hand 

Half-burned cigarette in your right 

 

I’ll continue around the block 

Head out of town 

On my way home 

Thinking about 

How I came to see you 

On August 17th