Glory days of a thirty-three year old god called over— <br />The morning glories thin to a haze <br />And the Fourth of July turns into the sleep of dusk in <br />The hotel beside the road— <br />But when you get up, there is your family, and breakfast; <br />And no matter where she is, there are more trucks to <br />Be loaded, the last of the fireworks to pack away: <br />Yes, the holiday is over for another year: <br />But there are so many billboards peppering the road <br />To sell almost anything—and going into the panhandle <br />You can enjoy sunlight, and nude entertainment, <br />Until, finally, you find your as way into another <br />Disney World.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/disney-world-2/
