It was a toasted Texas Tuesday rocking
down Route 66 quashing sleep with fists
of wide-eye wake-me-ups.
I swished by wacky Wigwam Inns,
tore through insect tempests, flirted
with roller-skating, bare-skinned,
drive-ined Marilyns.
I was neon
I was come on
I was Major Betucan.
EDITOR’S NOTE: This poem was selected from entries submitted to our Creative Challenge Series #16: First Sentences, which required that the first phrase in the text must be used as given.
