25 July, 2015
Houston, TX
It looks picturesque, a man in a vest,
and a horse - through the old parts of town.
Two in a carriage celebrate their marriage
By riding this thing all around.
Some weary old nag plodding asphalt and slag
Old Dobbin is coached by his reins;
Fatigued and forlorn, rough-shod and shorn
'Stead of running on grassland and plains.
They go through the streets with turistas,
With their corny and memorized spiels,
They do nothing but tie up the traffic,
Of the taxis and automobiles.
Those guys tell fantastic stories,
Of things that never have been,
Embellishing history for big tips,
Then they load up their buggies again.
Don't tell me your silly old stories!
I was here way longer than you.
My folks came on sailboats from Canada,
The first man - as one of the crew.
I even had one here before then,
The tribe built mud huts and mounds,
The Tensas, you see, from the Nat-tché did flee,
From their homes and their ancestral grounds.
You lecture about our old graveyards,
and how life on earth, where it ends?
'Neath those whitewashed tombstones
Lie the bodies and bones,
Of those of my family and friends.
When you speak to folks 'bout our city
It's history, please don't neglect
You can say that it also is pretty,
I'm just asking a little respect.
When you drive the streets of the Quarter,
On the sidewalks, I hope you will see,
Those who once lived and died here,
Who live on in our memory.
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