Range Roadies

We are the Range Roadies

We roll the township lines

We rule the rural grid

We pee in range road ditches.

We are the Range Roadies, and we eat gravel for breakfast.

We are the Range Roadies

We salute our brethren llamas

We moo at select cows

We spin to the chorus of frogs

We laugh at dogs who think they can catch us.

We are the Range Roadies

We measure distance in barns, mailboxes, and power lines

We identify crops with our eyes closed

                green barley, yellow canola, purple flax

We harvest road treasure

                little Buddhas, crescent wrenches, diamond rings.

We are the Range Roadies

We stop for gas station coffee

for pie, for tiny churches, for crappy mini-golf, for plaques, even cairns

We stop to peruse finery

We stop to smell wild roses

We stop to pee beside community halls.

We are the Range Roadies

We curse developers

We cheer at the sight of a grader

We smile at startled farmers

We outnumber cars.

We are the Range Roadies, and we take the middle of the road.