Hank Williams, Bongo and Me

Packing boxes with flotsam
and jetsam of another job gone south
phone rings like an angry bee
"He's had another one, calling the vet"

Steel guitar, mournful cry of lonesome
Last box goes in the car,
Professional dreams slumped over
in a passenger seat of sighs

Short goodbyes, shaking hands
and compliments with such flair
the hype was easy to swallow
Smiling and sinking in tandem

Out the door under a lowering sky
the melancholy cap pulled over furrowed brow
Wondering if its possible to write a song
Anymore, that isn't a bucket of sorrow

On the highway, screaming along to the radio
Filling up on another's artificial fuel
But inside, wondering if its possible
To write a country song without whiskey


Saying goodbye to an old friend
hands on the wheel, heart in the mouth
Knowing that its deep country
When everyday is just another parting


R.I.P. Bongo, our kitty with a 'tude. 20 years was a good run. May you find that spot in the sun.