songwriter slough

woke up to the dry scratchy voice of daryl
of the darrylizers on kboohooboohoo
sounding just like the good earth
he done 30 yards ago
simple as crushed dust on a sneaker hung over the tellyfone
wires, going nowhere in the key of 
geewhiz, picture him in his musty messy garage
3 am hashing out a ballad
old hamm kansas his ribs all bar
bbQed in too many decades of watertrough
wallows and unsanded gallows
he don't remember half of nothing
not how he got the knackname darryl
it was from 3 finger tony
at the watertrough on hawthorne who over the din
of the pool whacked evening
thought one name was d'udder, 
changing the straw, swamping out the dingy,
changing the cleats
putting on the yoke and tool belt
he don't return calls they pile up like empties
so his kids can target practice
their bbGuns from the galvanized pond
so far away
from harlow's lullabye the cyclops engine eye
of a voice that once had range,
Youth, less going for it and way
More spark