Though warm beer can quell the bull

fuming inside, or the wench tame the

caged eagle: Neither do I want, for

beer can be pissed out and a wench

tomorrow will lie anew: What I desire

after my back has broken from the heavy

plow or my knees wobble through the

hundred thousand acres of soil is to cry

the wondrous song of the bluebird

hidden as a mockingbird: chirpring

Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah: And I toss my

hat atop the fence, pat the gelled-up

mess it hid, and crouch by the edge

of reality: half-dreaming half-drunk

of the promised lies sung forth the trees


This is the 100 Songs Project, a 100-day writing challenge based on AFI’s 100 Years…100 Songs. Every day, I write a short poem, prose piece, or play based on, reacting to, rejecting, accepting, or doing something related to one of the songs in the top 100 list.

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