The Pensacola Cracker Barrel
Ronald H. Allen
Published by Ron Allen at Smashwords
Copyright 2010 Ronald H. Allen
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Now here’s the puzzle that’s bothering me,
You just ain’t where you’re supposed to be.
I turned off the road to follow your sign,
Never dreamed you'd be so hard to find.
I drove back and forth and drove up and down,
You never showed up so I turned around.
I could see your sign every now and then,
But each street I took was just a dead end.
At last at the end of an unmarked street
I spy your location, nice place to eat.
I’m famished, I’m tired, my tummy is growling,
I am so glad I can finally quit prowling.
I search all around to find the right road
That leads to your entrance where I can unload.
I try two side streets to no great avail,
I start to cuss; then I start to wail.
I’m within sight of your friendly front door,
Close to your fireplace and smooth wooden floors.
I’m starting to suspect a mean vicious plot
Can’t find the entrance to your parking lot.
At last I see a small break in the curb.
By this time I’ve become really disturbed.
My tummy is empty, frustration is high
If I don’t get food soon, I’ll probably die.
I follow this “alley” up to your store front,
Roll to a stop, hit your door with a grunt.
Grab the first waiter, dash for a table.
My blood sugar is low, heart beat unstable.
My hand is shaking, I’m in a bad mood.