My Town

              MY TOWN

 

Like an irritating splinter

In the depths of wooden winter

Huddles Minneapolis with many lakes.

Each with solid frost is skirted

But they never are deserted;

They are swirling with demented human flakes.

 

Some are skating, some are fishing,

Playing hockey, snowshoes squishing

From White Bear Lake down to the Mississippi.

They wear hats that look so dopey

And their smiles are always soapy;

Their noses grow in redness and are drippy.

 

'Twas the falls upon the river

made prosperity deliver

to the mills of Pillsbury in large degree.

I don't mean the workers shared it;

Those mild Swedes would not have dared it,

Sitting in their Union Halls while sipping tea.

 

Home of  Keillor and Fitzgerald

And where Hamm's Beer was all barreled

It's a town that everybody ought to know.

There's the zoo in Apple Valley

And the Gutherie where folks dally,

Tasting culture that is like a sloppy joe.

 

Driving down our broad expanses

Makes for motoring romances

Though when going over bridges have a care!

Whether Hennepin or Broadway

All the roads do have an odd way

Of developing great potholes from thin air.

 

You can vote for weird Al Franken

While your battery is crankin'

Or go visit a White Castle for a feast.

There are better restaurants, surely,

But they do not open early

And their food is not so elegantly greased.

 

And I won't forget to mention

The Republican Convention

Which is coming here to make grand history.

Though why delegates should gather

Working up into a lather

When they know they'll lose is quite a mystery.

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