Mother Road

Fourteen hundred and ten miles is quite a way to go.
Travel along the Mother Road and maybe you will know
that on main street, America, there is a lot to see;
it is Route 66, so come along and ride with me.

So as we leave Chicago for the heart of Illinois,
beyond that lakeside city where the winds find full employ,
Ambler’s Texaco Gas Station appears to us in Dwight;
and with two bright red gas pumps, it begins our journey right.

The next state is Missouri as we travel down the road,
in our newfangled Fusion zipping to another code.
In Pacific we have time to see the Red Cedar Inn;
a restaurant, with knotty pine, can make the people grin.

As we arrive in Kansas, Mother Road is not a bore;
and as we get to Riverton we see the Williams’ store.
In nineteen twenty five this store could utilize a dime;
yet now it is Americana captured for all time.

Onward to Oklahoma where there is so much to see;
with its 66 white sign is the Chandler Armory.
And in back is an outhouse both unique and made of brick,
rich in history, French decor--Work’s Progress bailiwick.

On the arid plains of Texas eight miles from shamrock,
we stop the car beside a bridge and take a little walk.
In the panhandle, long ago, Comanche roamed the land;
and the buffalo they hunted, heard, but they could not stand.

Bowlin’s Old Crater Trading Post in old New Mexico,
was once a booming industry when there was traffic flow.
And an old wizened-face woman shows us the art of weave;
so we capture another piece of culture as we leave.

The sights along Route 66 intrigue us as a rule;
In Arizona we attend the Truxton Canyon School.
In Mohave County, once, it helped the tribes adjust;
and so we feel a bit more learned among the desert dust.

California, now we roll across the golden state;
and even though the road was long, we now see it abate.
The culture and the history spoke loud along the way;
we tip our hats to Mother Road, arriving in L.A.

36 Lines