There once was (and still is,) a young man named Travis
That name almost rhymes with Charlotte Jane Davis,
There’s no verb in the book so possessive as “have” is.
(So desperate are we to find a rhyme for Travis.)
When Travis was small, he loved his Choo-choo suit.
He would sit on the dryer and wait
So he could walk down the street
To see Steve, his playmate.
One time on the train from Austin,
To San Marcos I told the conductor,
Travis hadn’t been on a train before.
He spoke up right smart, “I have, too!”
Since in his mind, the Zilker Park train
Was as real as the present conveyance.
Since other people called him “Travis You-gene,”
He figured he should call himself “Travis My-gene.”
His work is exceptional,
Knowing, as he does the whys and wherefore
Of how things work, (or don’t.)
In college at Alaska, A&M, and ACC, too,
People valued the way, when Travis was uncertain,
About a notion a prof. was blurtin’
He didn’t fake it, but asked,
When the others were silently hurtin’,
And had not the nerve to admit it.
He knows Karate and Tai Quan Do,
And can quote reams from
Boat-tail hollow-point to
Harold Sykes at the Conoco Station,
To me and Earl hauling chickens on
A flatbed out of Wiggins.
Over Wolf Creek Pass.