CROSSROADS

BY: BARNEY SHEPHERD

BACK BEFORE THE INTERSTATE.
WHEN TWO LANES WERE THE THING.
WE WERE DRIVING DOWN THRU DIXIE LAND
ON A SLOW PACED, SOUTHERN, FLING.
JUST TAKING IN THE SCENERY
IN THE HILLS OF DEEP RED CLAY.
THE SECOND, SLICKEST, STUFF AROUND.
AND I GUESS IT WILL STAY THAT WAY.

WE CAME ACROSS A HIGHWAY SIGN.
MY WIFE ASKED “WHAT DID THAT SIGN SAY?”
I GLANCED AT HER, KIND OF CASUAL LIKE
AND SPELLED OUT “R-E-S-A-C-A”.
“THAT’S THE NAME OF THIS HERE PLACE.
A TOWN WITH PRIDE AND FAME”.
“I KNOW IT’S A TOWN, YOU STUPID JERK.
BUT, HOW DID IT GET THAT NAME?”

SHE COULD NOT HAVE ASKED A BETTER SOURCE.
I KNEW ALL ABOUT THEIR CLAIM TO FAME.
JUST HOW IT HAD ALL COME ABOUT
AND HOW THAT TOWN HAD GOT ITS NAME.
IT SEEMS, THAT SHERMAN, ON HIS MARCH
THROUGH GEORGIA, TO THE SEA.
PICKED THIS HERE SPOT TO REST HIS TROOPS.
NOW, THAT WHAT GRANDPA TOLD TO ME!

RIGHT HERE, AT THE CROSSROADS
THERE WAS A BUG, WIDE, LOADING RAMP,
BESIDE THE GENERAL DRYGOODS STORE,
AND THAT’S WHERE SHERMAN PITCHED HIS CAMP.
THE OLD STOREKEEPER HAD A GIRL.
BUXOM, BLONDE, AND VERY HIPPIE.
HER FACE, AND A QUART OF BUTTERMILK,
WOULD HAVE TURNED THE MISSISSIPPI!

SHE PLIED HER TRADE WITH THE YANKEE LADS,
A PROFESSION, OLD AS TIME,
AND BETWEEN THAT GAL AND HER PAPA’S STORE,
THEY SPENT THEIR LAST THIN DINE.
THEY PLACED A MEAL SACK O’ER HER HEAD.
COULDN’T FACE THAT UGLY DAME.
“RESACK HER, BOYS!” WAS THE BATTLE CRY.
THAT’S HOW THIS TOWN GOT ITS NAME!

THAT’S WHAT MY GRANDPA TOLD ME
AND I DON’T DOUBT THAT IT IS TRUE.
BUT, I THINK THAT THE HISTORY BOOKS WILL SHOW
THAT, THEY’VE CHANGED A THING OR TWO
WHEN WE DRIVE DOWN THAT WAY TODAY
WE CAN’T FIND “RESACA” TOWN.
DID THEY CHANGE ITS NAME TO SOMETHING ELSE,