POST-MODERN BLUES
© Greg Keeler 1988

Post-Modern Romance

You're headed for Texas and the Gulf of Mexico,
Lookin' for action, good love, and sex. You go
To South Padre Island. You lie on the white sand.
You let the clear water tickle your neck and toes.
All of your problems wash away like a bad dream.
The love of your life washes up on the Gulf Stream,
But just as you stand in the surf and embrace,
Your lover says, "What the hell's that thing on your face?"
You say, "I don't know," as you reach up and touch it.
Then you notice your finger has an ugly black smudge,
And you see that your bodies look like someone rubbed fudge
On them. Your paradise fills with your heart-rending scream,
"What the hell's wrong with my American Dream?
I came all the way down here for good love and thrills,
Just to find myself wollowing in an oil spill."

You're in California in the vinyard country.
You meet a Latin lover just as sweet as honey.
It's quite a vacation, full of romance,
As into the California evening you dance.
You forget all your problems, forget every crisis.
You wallow in grapes just like Dionysis,
But just as you wind up in a Latin embrace,
Your lover says, "What's that haze in front of your face?"
You say, "I don't know," as you squint up in pain.
Then through the haze you barely see a crop dusting plane.
You wondered what that odor was, you smelled on the breezes.
You wondered why your kisses turned to wheezes and sneezes.
Then your paradise fills with your heart-rending scream,
"What the hell's wrong with my American Dream?
For passion and romance, I came all this way,
Just to find myself wallowing in insect spray."

For your next vacation, you won't take any chances.
You'll find a place where you can be damned sure romance is,
A place that's been labeled for lovers' convenience,
A place where no toxic event's come between us--
Yes, the perfect retreat for each guy and each gal.
Yes, for your next vacation, you'll pick Love Canal.