Twenty miles east -

at home - it's ninety in the shade. But

We're driving

In a twisted, turning jungle with no shade.

Up and over

There's a river,

And the sunset - just beginning -

Sets the stadium aglow -

The stadium where the home team

is probably losing, but we

love them anyway.



Twenty miles east -

At home - the cows chew grass and swat flies. But

We're driving

Through a hardened, concrete pasture with no cows.

Back and forth

On these streets,

Through the buildings, there's the sky -

We see the sun is sinking low -

And in the city zoo the elephants

are probably chewing hay and

swatting away the buzzing flies.



Twenty miles east -

At home - they're getting ready for the county fair. But

We're driving

In our town, times ten, where a fair would never be.

To and fro

Past the campus,

Where the college kids get ready -

For a concert by the river in the second to last row -

And the guys in the band

are probably musing over how they've

never played in such a conservative town before.



Twenty miles east -

At home - there's a still beauty in the fireflies. But

We're driving

In the yards of all the urban kids, without fireflies.

Ho and hum

Only headlights,

And a streetlamp on a corner -

And the sounds of Blessed Union on some car radio -

Hometown boys made good and

are probably living in huge houses on the West Coast

and only visit now but I am apathetic to them.



Twenty miles east -

A town - so efficient and so small. But

We're driving

Through city that I love without understanding.

Ebb and flow

In my heart,

All romantic for this place -

And I simply can't explain these emotions that I know -

Hometown girl in love with city summer twilights

is probably never going to figure out

her fixation with asphalt and overpopulation.