Woebegone Dreams

"Betsy", my father's old
Cadillac, was a stale champagne color,
With fabric that hung from the roof
As Betsy carried us
From our small East Texas town
To a slightly bigger town that
Actually has a Luby's

Garrison Keillor's "Prairie Home Companion"
Is coming through the dulled speakers,
As it does every Saturday evening.
I lay my head against the cool glass of
My window in the back seat,
Close my eyes, listen to Keillor's
Crooner voice softly and gently take
Me to the shores of Lake Woebegone.

I loved the stories of Lake Woebegone
Before I knew it was not a real place.
Before I even realized the name
Was itself a pun.
I still do,
But back then I would listen,
Imagine moving,
Settling down there one day.

My father eventually
Sold Betsy to the only
Place in town that would
Take her,
A junkyard.

I'm not sure what he saw
In that old Cadillac
But whatever it was
Stuck with him.
Betsy's hood ornament sits
Adorning his mahogany desk in his office.