AutoPoetica: From Gallup to
Tucumcari, By Way of Poem
Tucumcari
Resting in the shade of history's mountain.
Comanche, meaning,
To Lie in Wait for Someone to Approach.
And they did.
Ranchers, merchants, tourists and truckers
ply their trade on the promise of tomorrow.
Home of rattlers, teachers,
the Spanish, and Indians, bankers
service station attendants, and a poet or two.
Silver trails, a hitchin' post for our dreams,
Buckaroo riding high, Blue Swallows in the sky,
and Miss Lillian tells us,
'bout 66, a two-lane made from the railroad cinders,
clinkers they called them, slicked with oil,
dark, how that road shone,
and she a young bride,
got the Motel for an engagement gift
She's still here today,
I laid my cheek against her soft one,
felt welcomed.
That's the how of 66, the past
Holding the future and our present,
History of who we are
and where we're going.
66, Main Street, bustling with the traffic
of hopes and schemes,
Whispering, reminding us: Slow down, take time,
I've got a town to show you.
I've got prairies & diners, milk shakes & moccasins,
Sky courts and wildflowers
Haystack Mountain and homebaked pie.
Look Ma, it's a Roadside Attraction,
WOW! Look at that,
It's the Mother road, bringing us through to our future,
you and me, all of us,
to Tucumcari, right now!
-- Judyth Hill |
