A poem about H-Town by Robby Mexico

That Old H-town




Don’t be angry, she said in gentle tones



And I tried to listen but screamed instead



At her injustice, at the sheer ugliness,



Of this old H-town you all love so much.



God bless this city, burn it down,



Spread the ashes across the ocean,



Spin beautiful tales of that old H-town,



That malicious metropolis littered with good intentions.



Play honest violins at the funeral; flutes, too.



Trumpets don’t lie and we gather here,



To give our last respects, say our last words-



It’s okay, Houston would have wanted it this way.



Dallas came and cried a bit, as did London, Paris, Rome.



New York gave her condolences, but couldn’t come due to circumstance.



San Antonio seemed broken, lost; New Orleans cried a flood again,



But Milwaukee was too concerned with self to cry;



Seattle cried for days and days, and Galveston?



Well, Galveston attempted suicide but couldn’t



Convince himself to die.



And Moscow sent his heart, from Russia with love,



And Venice and Los Angeles consoled each other,



And Tokyo still refused to believe the news



And Chicago, Cairo, and Vancouver were silent,



Jordan and Beijing strove to be strong,



And Athens and Amsterdam collapsed with grief,



Nairobi and Sydney mourned their brother with



Toronto and Baghdad, and Phoenix and Bristol



And Berlin and Dubai and Okinawa and Barcelona



And Boston and Austin and me.



A moment of silence for that old H-town.


-- Robby Mexico