“Portrait of My Mother as the Republic of Texas”

by J. Allen Hall

My mother fought hard for her independence
and won in 1836. Afterwards, she dysfunctioned

as her own nation, oversaw the minting of beautiful
small coins. She passed laws, erected monuments

to men who would never again be slaves to order and pain.
Remember the Alamo? That was my mother.

She rested easier, despite the border skirmishes.
The war may never end. She was the frontier.

But still she would never feel the raw stamp
of ownership. The air was hers to breathe.

The pitiful part of her, that always-pleasing schoolgirl,
the church-mouse who told teachers she didn't mind

the bullies, they were all friends – that yellow part
of her voted for annexation in 1845. She did not have power

to veto herself. There were too many selves to enslave.
My mother became, through no fault of her own,

the twenty-eighth member of the American family.
Lone-star no longer. She joined a history of big hair.

So much of her was auctioned off to uncles Kansas and Oklahoma.
She was a junkyard, a cornucopia of spare land.

New Mexico, her favorite aunt, taught her insults, defense.
Say, “He’s so ugly he’d make a freight train take a dirt road.”

The family began to mock her. “How you doin’, pun-kin?”
They molested her. Nothing grew on the prairies of my mother.

The farmers forced themselves on her. The union limited
the number of vibrators my mother could own.

She filed papers, asked men in black robes to recognize her
supreme sovereignty. Then my mother organized an embassy,

first in a volunteer firehouse, then in a silver trailer shaped like a bullet.
The Republic of Texas waved its flag over the rolling hills

that stretched like a blue streak into Texarkana,
which she still owns. In the 1980’s,

the Republic of my Mother kidnapped her neighbors,
Joe and Margaret Ann Rowe, to highlight the abuse

she’s been dealt at the hands of America.
My mother is an American terrorist. My mother died

in the standoff. My new mother was elected
by a landslide. In the Fall of 2000, my mother moved

to a 42-acre square of land near Cuero. The city’s largesse
depends almost entirely on retirement pensions.

In her spare time, my mother designs airstrips,
staffs border patrols, receives foreign dignitaries.

The Sovereign Mother opened her first consulate in Barcelona.
She does not speak Spanish. “Cuero” means raw hide.

The Ride-‘Em Raw-Hide of my Mother recommends
nearby Austin for guests who desire an active nightlife.

The Global Conglomerate of my Mother insists
visitors speak American. Love it or leave it.

Currently, the Republic is facing lean times.
The former treasurer neglected May’s utilities

and refuses to return the funds to the new treasurer.
The Republic of my Mother needs your help.

She requires 10 people to commit $100 per month for the utilities.
If you can help, call the capital toll free at (888) 802-6352.

Pledge your support today.
My motherland is waiting for your call.