There are songs that start this way, south-side Montgomery
     waking to an early morning rain, thinking,
         Hank's last mile was in a Cadillac,

     that country music made its business in

                       empty whiskey bottles,
                            unfinished lyrics;
                                amphetamines

The 21st century and no one yodels anymore.

A new year brings Hank's tired voice through my walls.
     Who else is listening?

A heart too large, too tired?
     in a world where styrofoam floats freely in the bayou

Time . . . a cigar store Indian . . . never flinching.
     Constant, without concern if we wake in the morning.
        Still as a Cadillac left on display in downtown Montgomery

New Year's Day . . . a wreath laid on Hank Williams' grave . . .
     It's raining--which is fitting--and though I didn't visit
       I was at his graveside just the same.