This Jackson
Is not the Jackson you know.
Not the driver
Of generational sorrow,
But the driver of livings
For the people
Who now spit in the face
Of the name.

Often forgotten—
Passed over by planes and trains—
Lies the gateway to the West.
Through pastures and plains
Cars take for granted
The outposts placed here
By mothers before them,
Often steering clear
Of the road signs and door signs
Calling them to stay
In the communities built
Along the once unforgiving way.
But now it seems that Jefferson
Did little for the State
Besides blazing trails and laying rails
To get from place to place.

Here in Alaska,
We have gold!
And all the fish
You’ve been told
Of in this last frontier.
Do let me be bold:
The best Juneau
Is named after Joe.

Maybe!
But here in Dodge County,
We have it all!
Concerts and beer
And farms that sprawl
Across the county
So let me recall:
The best Juneau
Is named after Paul.

I see,
But here along the Wisconsin River
We have openness:
Pastures to prance through
And general hopefulness
So, gentlemen,
I tell you with solemness:
The BEST Juneau
Is named after Solomon.