Prairie Fins

Across the vast Dakota plains,

Where the horizon never ends…

We sailed over the prairie flats,

Propelled by General Motors’ fins.

The tank was filled with ethyl,

The trunk laden with Bali Hai…

A glove box full of cigarettes,

Our goal was “New Orleans or die”!

Our first stop was in Miller,

We had no money for a room,

A motel gave us each a paint brush,

And a single bed till noon.

We painted until Thanksgiving;

The travelers snowy roads forgot…

Chewed the pheasant very carefully,

“This bird’s loaded with buckshot”!

That month we made a profit,

All blown on strangers in a bar;

When you’ve spent a week in Miller,

Life says “Turn around the car”!

Now looking back in retrospect,

In the mirror, and 40 years older…

I picture the Buick, aged like me,

Still running, but nearing the shoulder.