On contemplating Nashville.
When you’re a loner and life is making you crazy
You can always bomb—downtown . . .
I placed a car in Tennessee,
And blew it up all ’round me . . .
Whenever Mister Warner parked down town,
We people on the pavement yelled at him . . .
Whose wheels these are, I think I know.
His house is in the suburbs, though . . .
Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me—
His camper held but just Ourselves, and lots of TNT . . .
Yesterday upon the square, I saw a van that wasn’t there.
It wasn’t there again today. I wish, I wish, it’d blow away . .
The old Dodge parks backwards without blowing up,
I remember when it ran over a pup.
Much have I travelled on the streets of old,
And so few empty spots and spaces seen . . .
In such venue did city code
A blast free loading zone decree . . .
Do not you gentlemen park here tonight—
Our meter maids and cops will ruin your day . . .
Stop the drivers of bigger cars,
The masculine ones, and bid them strip . . .
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made gory and glummer by this ton of junk . . .
Tinkle, tinkle, little car.
Now you’ve really gone too far . . .
When RV parts and broken glass
Do taint dear Nashville with affright . . .
h/t. the Puddy