Is This a Cheeseburger?
Is it the paradise
I sang about as a child raised by Parrot Heads?
As I near the same age of that pirate, the number
my dad had when I first heard it,
that sweet harmonica wail
still transports me to Margaritaville.
But come Monday, the piles of bills stack
as high as a volcano and remind me
that it might be five o’clock somewhere,
but not here. Not yet.
But this son of a son of a sailor has salt water
running through my veins. The ocean
and changes in latitudes call my name.
Any time the grind becomes too much,
I’m knee deep in taking life too seriously,
I remember the time my child mind
picked exactly the wrong song to memorize
and sing along with in public.
Oh, the flushed faces of my parents as I crooned,
“Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw…”
1.7K

