Osage Beach (Here We Come) Poem by Gabhriel Londe

Here we go,
On our way to Osage Beach.
I remember this ride being more fun,
More promising,
But I guess I was younger then.

I'm sitting here
Listening to my prophets,
And I don't remember these lands
Being so flat
And lifeless.
A Volvo just cut us off,
Since when were these drivers so mean?

I pray (to something) that this is not my trip.
I pray (to something else) that there are still fish in the lake,
Or at that, at least, the lake is still there
And not filled with blood.

Well, I'm parched,
All that praying,
You know?
Who wants drinks?