Friday, July 16, 2004
Missoura
A break from the ordinary sports themed stuff this week with a poem by fellow Missouri native Randy Seals. The location of Missouri is somewhat unique. Not totally southern, not totally northern, some parts back east, some parts out west. William Least-Heat Moon author of the classic road novel "Blue Highways" wrote to the effect that if you are from Missouri people from the south think you are from the north, people from the north think you are from the south and people from back east think you are a cowboy.
COUNTY FAIR
Desoto, Mo. 1963
The half-warm beer
tasted just half-warm
as we drank it there
in the sweltry mosquito
dusk.
"Goddam bugs," spat
one old fella frustrated
with the wait and well on his way
to oblivion.
"Get on with the music."
Young Eddie Reynolds aimed
a beer drenched plug and flashed
a six tooth grin.
The sky was clear
with stars and locusts.
Carnival lights and popcorn mixed
with straw and barker's shouts.
A lanky cowboy
tipped his stetson to a local lovely
marveling at how she managed
to get into her jeans.
"Hey, what's they name of the band?"
Somebody asked somebody.
"The Arizona Aces."
Answered someone else.
The mandolin player was
tuning some flat notes
while the guitar man
fiddled with his strap.
The banjo player and two singing girls
were cracking jokes with the skinny cowboy
while the bass man scowled.
The finally all got together and started.
Their first tune was
Lost Highway.
A break from the ordinary sports themed stuff this week with a poem by fellow Missouri native Randy Seals. The location of Missouri is somewhat unique. Not totally southern, not totally northern, some parts back east, some parts out west. William Least-Heat Moon author of the classic road novel "Blue Highways" wrote to the effect that if you are from Missouri people from the south think you are from the north, people from the north think you are from the south and people from back east think you are a cowboy.
COUNTY FAIR
Desoto, Mo. 1963
The half-warm beer
tasted just half-warm
as we drank it there
in the sweltry mosquito
dusk.
"Goddam bugs," spat
one old fella frustrated
with the wait and well on his way
to oblivion.
"Get on with the music."
Young Eddie Reynolds aimed
a beer drenched plug and flashed
a six tooth grin.
The sky was clear
with stars and locusts.
Carnival lights and popcorn mixed
with straw and barker's shouts.
A lanky cowboy
tipped his stetson to a local lovely
marveling at how she managed
to get into her jeans.
"Hey, what's they name of the band?"
Somebody asked somebody.
"The Arizona Aces."
Answered someone else.
The mandolin player was
tuning some flat notes
while the guitar man
fiddled with his strap.
The banjo player and two singing girls
were cracking jokes with the skinny cowboy
while the bass man scowled.
The finally all got together and started.
Their first tune was
Lost Highway.
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
Whatever happened to . . .
- Cheap tickets to a ballgame. Went to SBC Park in San Francisco by myself, had two beers and a hot dog. Dropped $100.00. Did see a bench clearing brawl however and a Dodgers loss.
- Outdoor Major League baseball in Minnesota. DUMP THE DOME!
- Ken Phelps, the poor man's Babe Ruth.
- The 10-cent comic book.
- Killibrew's Root Beer.
- The fershlugginer Van Arsdale Twins.
- My plans to update this site daily?
