Tuesday, 7 March 2017

Why Don't You Get Your Kicks Out On Route 55?

A prompt today.  Click on a random Wikipedia article.  Write about it.

If you want to try it, here's the link.  You never know what you might learn.

I realised too late that I've taken prompt number 68 when this is only day 66 of the year.  Never mind.

I have to say this: I am not pleased at all with the results.  Perhaps that's because I'm not passionate in any way whatsoever about the subject of the article.  There is no good reason why I would be.  Prompts are all very well.  If they're interesting.  There is a more interesting prompt for day 67 and I think tomorrow I may write from it.  Yay.  The day will match the prompt number.  I think a little bit of cruelty may be involved!  Because I'm like that!

Today's post isn't going to go down in the annals of classic literature.  It is what it is.  And for today that is enough.

Route 55 public domain image from here.

She's not so famous as her cousin
Weeps, wails, wishes there were songs
About the ways men have explored
Her entire length, her body
And felt moved to write about all
She has given to them.
She cries, believing that will never happen,
Not to her: Dull, short, featureless.
She wonders why there's any point trying
To be someone noteworthy.
Men have called her cousin "Mother,"
They've made documentaries about
How they crossed every inch of her flesh.
Her esteemed cousin's in novels, she's historic.
She's Will Roger's favourite.
Her cousin excites people so much that
They choose to go to her to get their kicks.

But she, nobody pays attention to her.
Men use her, oh yes, they use her.
And then forget her.
Because she's not Route 66.
She doesn't cross a continent.
Isn't ever going to have sports teams named after her.
She's not going to win awards
Or span the mighty Mississippi.
She'll be anonymous until her dying day.
Because she's just plain old Utah State Route 55.
Just one thousandth the length of her worshipped cousin.
She knows her place.  Knows her Price.
Intimately knows that small town she circles and protects.
She's proud of Price,
Proud to see everyone getting along in Utah.
Glad that Carbon County is diverse,
Still a place where it's easy to not be Mormon.
Route 55 is satisfied with all that.
And yet, sometimes dissatisfied with her lot,
Longing to be something more than
A three mile ring road.
She would see the world, break from Utah
Stride out West to the sea.
She desperately longs to be the glory road.
Then she remembers one thankful thing:
She's not dead.
Her cousin was murdered. Thirty years back.
The price of fame.


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