The River Rouge Complex

Maybe it was Lincoln Park,
Maybe the Biograph
Empty and oh so dark,
But something struck a spark
And lit up love at last.

So it was, we both were swayed
Beside the Greyhound bus,
Which left without delay
When nothing could separate
The two of us.

We’d be gone, that much we knew,
Drabness here would get to us,
And we’d ditch our hometown blues
And find a gig to suit
The two of us.

But we weren’t in River Rouge,
Had no share in Ford’s disgust,
Saw no call for his refuge,
His Americana rouge
That few could trust ---

Any more than Kansas City
Or Jackson and its bluff
Or dreams of sitting pretty
Could pare the nitty-gritty
Knitting us.