To Bubbas and Beer

Observe the color of a whole different horse,
1n anachronism lacking the slightest remorse,
untimely in adherence to mores passe,
insistently, vouchsafing what's long passed away.
Not culture or nation, just people in a place,
happily, time forgot to infuse with a trace
of desire for the changes, elsewhere so active...
worshiping tradition, the sole thing attractive.

"Out-of-touch", "out-of-step", "lagging behind-the-times"
are tags, apropos for society's past-primes
while being described by the "hip", avant-garde,
who flip at business when done in the front yard,
who want dice on the table never from mirror,
whose Lions, and Elis are greatly superior
to Gators, Hawgs and Dawgs, who purely can't abide
honoring dead algae with the name, Crimson Tide.

Their colas of choice, Appalachie and Pense,
(no market for diet, what a waste, caffeine-free),
young brothers are bubbas, all females are sweet thangs,
mama rules the roost, papa's neutered with few fangs,
romance means backseats and a summertime drive-in,
curfew's a battle that scorers will survive in.
One things is for certain, the family is king,
all well-fed, its well-said, "together" is their thing.

Good-old-days, by-gone ways, the home's to entertain.
Their successes condemn a lifestyle we maintain
is better, above par of Brothers, Seuss and Ruth.
In this one, choose the yard and what it claims as Truth,
chuck the rest, no gain's best, if children pay the price!
Re-focus, determine to put away the dice,
toss not, if family believes it brings them harm!
To bubbas and beer! This year, discover their charm! !

--jawjajack goobersac



copyright 1998, The Goober Tree Press, all rights reserved