Cortejando de Duncanville (Poem)

I love you to the point that I’ve lost count of the ways to love you.  It’s potentially because I possess an abnormal amount of reasons any man should love his city.  But, this love, so cultivated and catered in its conception, provokes me to toast Charles Nance and Chris Horne should the afterlife permit them to see.
You were dubbed the “Best Southwest” before my parents even conjured my name.  But, Duncanville, my darling, I got here as fast as one could.  You’re the undisputed nephew to the multi-colored skyline to the Northeast.  It’s Texas itself that compliments Dallas for calling you its own.
 You extended your lineage greatly to my being, not for me to brag, flaunt, or discredit the culture of others, but engaging in such is the depth of bedrock beneath us.  Such gloating is far from necessary when narrating those sultry summers of youthful wonder.
You cradled the scenery, that baked my creole skin, you gave me babbling nature filled creeks, and stinging hot basketball courts to get filthy, scrape scabs raw, and to be a growing weed.  Your vicious tiny hills taught me more than a thing or two when my feet sunk in.  Just to let you know—I’m quite thankful for those scalding red bumps.  Your lesson was to watch where I step outside your walls.
 Yet, you loved me enough to order me away from their protection.   Never tried to own me.  However, I barely stopped short of giving you that right.  You longed for that before my birth—before my parents even had concepts of finding you.  But, when those faraway lands inflict their damage, you let me know I can still come drive down Main and Wheatland to be healed.
This hometown is extended from God to cradle endless varieties with little effort.  They blend, they mesh, they work, they collaborate, and they harmonize in the rhythm of life’s daily purposes.
This takes place in Duncanville High, to the Red Bird Mall, to Camp Wisdom, to the Whataburger, to the Skateland, to The Woods, to Duncanville Library, to every donut shop, mechanic garage, to ever barbershop, and to that one distinct Dairy Queen that I love.
Dear Duncanville,
I got here as fast as I could with my own effort, but God got me there in just the nick of time.
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