off to omaha

i don't see a sun, grouching in the lower sky, skipping
with a fool's slow two-step; must be on its way to omaha
where they steal some heat for pork ribs, for concrete

streets in circles, and i must be wondering why, if this
is the end of day, i've got the time for yammering, chase
coyotes just for fun, when i should be off to omaha.

heard cowboys there are thirsty, beer is fine for dinner
don't break the fast til 2, say rum is for the foreign lads,
bourbon too old school; so it leaves me sitting in the air

there's something now that's not quite clear, will the
rules i learned in tulsa make the grade here in between
should i learn a silly country song, make me loopy

with some twang, buy a pair of boots for kicking, goodwill
jeans to play my part, is there wisdom in topeka for dilemmas
such as mine? just point me to a squatter's shack, gone

empty in the field, i'll make a bed from things forgotten
sip a jar of honeyed scotch, write my memoirs on a paper
roll, but i don't see the sun, it's abandoned me at last

no, don't even think to kiss these lips, they were never
meant for you, i've got no room for bruises, got marks
aplenty, second hand; i whistle best when solitary,

on this long road from alabam