Bless us, Oh Lord,
and this our Jell-O. Our corn,
and steaks and kolaches.
Our heat indexes. Our wind chills.
Our sunsets and horizons.
Our endless waves of grain and grass.
Our ancestors who started out
for the coast but stopped half-way.
Our nostalgia for their calico,
their sod, their olde homesteads.
Our denial of the meth labs
that have taken their place.
Bless our perseverance.
Our unerring politeness.
Our red state politeness
and our white, white bread.
Bless our dubious status
as tornado alley or flyover zone
and bless all those who fly over,
as well as those of us who, out of
choice or necessity or inertia -
forgive us, we know not why or what
we've done - but, by God, stayed.
~ Grace Bauer
(1952- )
U.S.A.
~ Beannaichte'
17 July, 2017
beannaichte.twitter.com
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