It's hot in Austin, Texas.
Tourists huddle indoors and gripe
about the summer heat.
"They're laughing at us," Mary says,
pointing at the Tejanos
in denim and long sleeves
laying asphalt.
We are drinking ice-cold beer
in the afternoon
at Guero's Taco Bar.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
It's weird in Austin, Texas.
Misfits and malcontents
make their home
in the Lone Star State capital.
"I'm running for Mayor,"
Leslie announces,
hiking her miniskirt to reveal
(MAY)(OR!)
written in permanent marker
across freckled butt cheeks.
Will Bill offers his legal services
pro bono.
The campaign is launched.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
It's loud in Austin, Texas.
Live music rattles the cityscape
with a bluesy,
honky-tonk vibration.
"Who's playing the Continental?"
Victor asks,
reaching for the weekly Chronicle:
Dale Watson at ten o'clock,
Tony Price at Saxon Pub,
Charlie Sexton at Antone's.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Creativity flourishes in Austin, Texas.
Every service industry person
has a side hustle in the arts.
"Read my screenplay?" Hannah asks.
I don't want to read it.
I consent anyway.
Around here,
yes is a form of currency.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
It's harsh in Austin, Texas.
A hostile climate chases off
the weak and infirm.
Heat scorches lawns,
peels paint,
warps judgement.
"This is Comanche territory,"
Tocho declares.
"Our ancestors suffered
raiding parties,
forced slavery,
pestilence and disease."
Carmen reminds him
that most of us
are from somewhere else.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
It's hip in Austin, Texas.
Newcomers flood the city
from all corners of America.
"Hundreds a day!" Sarah laments.
Scaffolds and cranes
dot the horizon.
The skyline swells like a fever.
Every season, something iconic
disappears.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
It's home in Austin, Texas.
"The place gets into your blood,"
Eddie says.
He came in 1987
for the South by Southwest
music festival.
Found a tribe
under the live oaks.
Never left.
The Colorado river
carries our secrets
all the way to the Gulf.
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