Matt’s Rancho Martinez

I was sitting at Matt’s Rancho Martinez outside Dallas.  I caught the blurr of a waiter zooming by with shots on his tray.  It’s a loud place – reminds me of the echoing noise of my grade school gymnasiums I guess.  Such an oddity am I here – people spend a blink of time “tryin’ to figger me out”… but then go back to two fingering their shot glasses… pinkies up I suppose.  I don’t deserve as much attention as 2 oz of liquor on fire.  In the cacophony of chip dippin’ diner and drinkers, I ended up on a completely bizarre trip back in time.  Strange what sends us back – but here I am, in the present and just fine.

Saucers fly by on the Texas breeze
Of waiters with wings on their heels
Carrying courage to the sober in dire need
Those who will never read my poems.
Those with hearts and voices tough as steel.

I was the last one picked for kickball
Me and the other kids fighting the hurt, staying strong
Waiting to be seen by our idols, not caring what side we’d be on
and here at this table, I ask how did I land in this roadhouse
moving to the same old emotional dance, the same old childhood song.

My cap is pulled down over my brow, as I prefer
to not be noticed in the din of this drunken schoolyard
How magnificent a God that hears each and every call
of billions and billions of waiting souls
each picked first by the captain of their very own heart.

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