Jackson Hole Poetry

Jackson Poetry.

Jackson is the Beverly Hills of Wyoming. This former ranching town has been discovered and has been cited by no less than a publication than the New York Times as ‘the town of choice for billionaires to move to’. Last year Jackson was rated the highest per capita income of the whole country. What was the source of that income? Ranching? Tourism? No- it was investments!

The trouble with this become a rich man’s valley is that we regular folks must also pay the outrageous prices for goods that they do.

Here is some poetry that gives you an idea of the situation:



In every city that ever was

Landlords play a vital part

But here in Jackson they elevated the job 

To a very specialized form of art.


Greed is a keen passion 

that here has become a fashion

And every little, half built hovel 

Requires a price paid by the shovel.


For a floor, a roof and walls four

You will be charged incredibly more

Than Walt paid for his Disney castle 

Which was built with much less hassle.


With land here at such a premium

Your rent will be by per diem (daily)

And definitely make your budget a wreck

Being significantly more than your paycheck. 


But be of good cheer

A Happy Ending is here

There is an answer for a financial glue

When winter comes, go build an igloo!




Working three jobs can be a real drag

For those of us without a huge money bag

But we prod steadfast on

Towards an unseen horizon

Leaving us still a long way gone.


We venture it seems 

Balancing on uneven beams

Trying not to tip
So far that we slip

And into murky waters dip.


Our future is dark

Lit by nary a spark

Only one way can lead us to a life 

Free of dire financial strife
Search and find a billionaire wife!



Bollards (Bollards look like skinny bowling pins the city sets up at obnoxious places throughout the town to seperate the vehicular traffic from the bicylists. They give way too much room to the cyclists not enough to the car and trucks that actually pay for the road maintenence.)

Bollards, bollards everywhere

Throughout downtown and up to the Square.

Supposedly for school kids to be secure

But in the summer is it not premature?


Allowing bicycles three abreast

They put large vehicles to the test

Too narrow for buses and garbage trucks

They make the passage through sheer dumb luck.


They look like bowling pins that are rather thinny

And make the streets passable only for Mini’s

Before there was already not enough parking

But whoever listens to angered drivers barking? 


Perhaps their purpose is something less manifest,

And the hidden answer that answers it best

The local homebodies don’t like all the bustle 

From the summerly trailer parking hustle.


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