Under a wandering star
A king is born
Ghost me, -180 years old
Standing at his blanket crib
In his eyes I see
The spark of Alamo
The shadow of a tailed hat
The blood of Tallussahatchee
The ghosts of four sons
Hear the voice of reason
In his milky grumbles
His song of everyone being free of tyrannical fathers
One hundred and eighty six years later
I am under the stairs
On my mother's Afghan coat
Pretending to be
Under a wagon
Under the stars
Singing,
(In my John Wayne voice, not my Richard Widmark voice),
About women
