November 6, 2016

Fresh country air
There’s nothing better for you.

Nothing some good old Appalachian breeze can’t cure

Day wains
Kin circle the fire pit
Wind shifts,
storm’s brewing,
somewhere.

No matter;
Fire will have burned itself out
long before it gets here.
For now,
let the little ones play,
and run through wide open spaces.

Generation upon generation,
born and bred
country strong of blue collar creed.
Mills, mining, construction,
factories.
Family farms:
cows, chicken, horses, hogs.
Diesel, grease and oil perfume;
Remind of hard work,
and loving what we do.
Past cornrows, and pastures,
down country roads,
dirt; paved, old and new,
A trek to “town”, to work, to school.
Pickups, ATVs, on worn forest paths,
over rickety bridge covered creeks,
these country roads: tried, traveled, true.

Smell the seasons changing;
A hot lemonade summer,
aging to a crisp kodachrome fall;
next a frigid white Winter,
then warm floral Spring.

The amber sun sinks lower,
the buzz of the drill goes silent.
and workers hang their hats.
Before eight
all county stores,
paper mill, factories:
closed

Past dinner,
past dusk,
Fireflies flicker.
Little ones tucked in tight.
All house lights low.
Over paved roads semis still blaze.
Foliage, pollen, and manure
scent the dewy night.

Yet no matter time of day
or year,
most reliably,
Methanol,
Formaldehyde,
Ammonia,
Lead,
and
Styrene
remain

in this
fresh,
country
air.