Hitchhiking to Tx--poem by guest writer

Stranger Within the Gates

by Neal Dachstadter

The treeline follows the highway,
The beeline pauses in Texas.
Sinatra he croons about “My Way,”
And Kerouac, he’s sorta feckless.

Unwilling to quiet his rant,
Indwelling no hut, nor a shant,
H Thompson, he built him a fort,
Far south - Caribbean "Rich Port.”

Surrounded by engines and wheels,
And men who turn great business deals,
It’s sooner or later the thinker
(yon Bon Vivant five o’ clock drinker)

Who's bound to conclude, then hold sway,
‘Mid Motion-Perpetual's ray,
“Industrial Doctrine must prove
A free man, at times, he will move.”

A guy may withdraw from his home,
To turn toward the dark and the gloam,
To prove his ideas, like a candle,
Ignite more than darkness can handle.

He trades Interchangeable Parts
Comparing the horses, the carts,
With horsepower chariots fast,
On roads facing forward, not past.

Lo, best be the desert-scape tanned.
Ho, West, see my gold-colored land!
Fast-trade: “I'll take gold for the green."
Fast-fade: “Forsake old, now unseen.”


We live on a Continent’s River;
Miss Delta’s rich generous giver,
Usurping two great northern waters,
Whose tribute-flow renders them daughters.

Miss keeps them well placed and employed,
Her children are graced, overjoyed,
Whenever her name is south-sung,
("Miss’ssippi") they sense the shui-feng.

Her sons they climb westward for land,
No East Coast, but Western’s their strand,
Their Motion Perpetual, till rest:
Till Parts Interchange for the best.

The past week brought nigh Theta Zeta,
Sinatra? H-Thompson? Frere-Jacques?
Akin…but just Brother Filart,
Whose train goes to Berkeley, like BART.

In Austin, this brother’s abed,
His journey, it passed without dread.
Miss greeted our Biblical Stranger.
She pointed him west, without danger.