Peter Britt planted this, Peter Britt built that
his name seems to pop up wherever I am at.
On benches and gardens, near giant tree plaques
And upon any sign among Jacksonville facts
In the 1850s, its said, he arrived in a cart
With a five-dollar bill, and loaded with art.
He found a good spot, built a cabin near me
Added a studio for photography
He put in pear orchards, and tended some bees
He even planted an Abyssinian banana tree
He studied the stars, and made the first wine,
Was kind to the locals, made paintings so fine
As a modern woman, I know it’s not woke
to have any semblance of crush on this bloke.
Alas, he’s a white man from an old century
(Which these days is not in-fashion to be)
I hope he’s not cancelled, I hope people see
The way that Britt found his way into me
A bon vivant! The artistic type!
Yet roughty-toughtly in his own right
Oh, Peter Britt, the Renaissance man
Even these days, I admit
I am a fan.
(poem and art by Christina Ammon)
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