West Texas Aggregate
Preacher in a Cadillac, fresh new coat of wax
grinning like a Cheshire cat
Ranchers brandishing black hats, rifles in gun racks
politely slow to let us pass
Stake-beds carry Mexicans to where the crop is coming in
homesick eyes peer out past weathered skin
Meanwhile down at Ray’s Garage, my brother hardens up his heart
and welds it to his muscle car
Dad’s just staring straight ahead
we haven’t talked in God-knows-when
I guess we’ve learned to keep from butting heads
But, in this silence I have found the very nature of this town
“get out, get right, or just get on with it.”
This is my home, this is my place
These are my people, despite what we say
These are the thoughts I’ll carry with me
as I’m running away
Store fronts that we used to frequent, now for sale or lease
and patronized by tumbleweeds
Every make and model car is parked outside the bar
misery loves company
Dad mutters something ‘neath his breath, he just might drink himself to death
then he shoots a sideways glance at me
And as I watch my world roll by I can’t help but wonder why
what does all this have to do with me?
This is my home, this is my place
These are my people descending from grace
We keep a safe distance, keep our heads high
This is West Texas, make do or die trying
This is my home, this is my place
These are the pieces, these aggregates
These are the thoughts I’ll carry with me
as I’m running away
This is my home, this is my place
These are my people
Despite what they say…
© Kevin Higgins 2009