Where is it, how is it , that we do our dance … it is the beginning of that time of year.
Awaiting along the side of the road, showing our need for your consideration; we do like the notice … but few pass slow enough. We are here, the grounded midwest, willing to make a show for you as you pass overhead.
A bit out of date maybe, a bit to sentimental, at least about some things. Out of dispersion here are occasional settled facts, moving to a cold unity.
We have largely moved to the cities but still preserve the American Myth, agrarianism, somewhat closer than reality allows. We don’t stoop-and-pluck anymore, lest it be for flowers.
Shedding of the black dirt from our feet still isn’t complete, maybe shouldn’t be. But that may not matter… for those who fly on-to and away, to some bigger show.