J.D.'s Junk City by Brian Burns
J.D.'s Junk City out on FM 103
Is thirty some-odd acres worth of stuff that you don't need.
He's got old wood barns and trailers full of memories on the wall;
If America's abandoned it, old J.D.'s got it all.
He's got guitars, guns, and Cadillacs, violins, and clarinets,
A hundred-thousand old LP's, some 8-tracks and cassettes.
Old J.D.'s a poet, but that might be hard to prove;
He wishes he could write a song, and the neighbors wish he'd move.
"Come on in and take a look inside a junkman's heart
Where one man's heap of garbage is another's work of art,
Then look out into a place where hearts have turned to stone,
And tell me which side of the fence the junkyard's really on."
Now he'll sell you a jukebox from a beer joint in Fort Worth,
Or a forty year-old postcard from any place on Earth,
An antique German beer stein, or an angel figurine,
But don't ask about the TV; someone shot out the screen.
He says, "my country's goin' to Hell right before my eyes;
The cities that I travel, I no longer recognize...
The same Starbucks and Wal-Marts, from chain to retail chain...
Fifteen songs on the radio, and they all sound the same."
"So I haul another load in here when all my ramblin's done,
Play some guitar and some pinball, man, I have myself some fun.
I'm always in some kind of trouble with the county clerk;
They laugh at me at Dairy Queen, but that's just my line of work."
Refrigerators, records players, old tin signs galore,
Mechanical bulls from Gilley's, and a t-shirt Willie wore,
And this light, from common angles, may not shine as bright for some
As it does along his fence line, and to him is Kingdom Come.