Farewell, Minnesota, I'm bound for L.A.
With two hundred dollars and my screenplay.
I've shaved off my hair, have a ring in my nose,
A couple of earrings, and a lot of black clothes,
Tattoos on my shoulders and my forehead,
And no one will guess I'm from Fargo-Moorhead.
My screenplay is dark and bloody and crude
And yet very stylish and ironic in mood.
It'll win me some major awards, I expect,
And then I'll write another, which I'll also direct.
I'll build me a mansion in Malibu
And then I will send away, Mother, for you.
I will build you a wing overlooking the sea
You'll have every comfort and of course you'll have me.
We'll sit in the evening on your patio
And eat tuna hotdish and orange Jell-O,
And we will play Scrabble late into the night
And you'll tuck me in and turn out the light.
To my fans I'm a jerk and a roughneck and boor
But my love for you, Mother, is tender and pure.
I'm bound for L.A., farewell to St. Paul.
And one of these days, Mom, I'll give you a call.
© Garrison Keillor 2002