Going Home

There are many ways to Williamsburg,
I’ve never flown there,
It would probably be ugly
Going over DC, just as it is driving around,
But the Colonial Capital doesn’t have suitable airports,
Landing strips,
Acceptable fields,
Or hover pads to set down on.

Once there, however, the time is great.
Running in the woods,
Learning about my family,
Seeing my goat herding homie,
Barbecue and all those pines…
It’s great.

Still, I wonder,
What’s going on at the new governor’s haunts?
How cruel can old age be to alums and the face they put out there?
Would a genetic smash up of Don Johnson with Philip Michael Thomas
Create the perfect model of a dad with no chest chair,
His shirt unbuttoned to his ribs, a white man’s jeri curl,
And a shiny dinner jacket he bought in 1987 at the Casual Male?
Hey, good enough for a landing spot,
Faux fur or not,
Middle age can’t be covered up with a cosmetic counter’s worth of foundation,
But they played the part,
Like the homecoming parents, they were,
Smallish town royalty, bumpkins or wanna be’s.
Doesn’t much matter,

It’s all part of going home.

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