On Not Visiting Hank Williams' Grave on New Year's Day
There are songs that start this way, south-side Montgomery
waking to an early morning rain, thinking,
Hank's last mile was in a Cadillac,
that country music made its business in
empty whiskey bottles,
The 21st century and no one yodels anymore.
A new year brings Hank's tired voice through my walls.
Who else is listening?
A heart too large, too tired?
in a world where styrofoam floats freely in the bayou
Time . . . a cigar store Indian . . . never flinching.
Constant, without concern if we wake in the morning.
Still as a Cadillac left on display in downtown Montgomery
New Year's Day . . . a wreath laid on Hank Williams' grave . . .
It's raining--which is fitting--and though I didn't visit
I was at his graveside just the same.