They grew too fast out of the Midwest suburban
human-fields; free human experimentation
with the “house in the prairie” and raised
wild flowers beds in idyll pretend
discreetly boxed between the fields of flex fuel
distilled to the deadly alcohol extract;
“Oh, how cheap is all with a little bit of science and ethanol!”
Soon they hit the road, drove back
and found themselves as if out of reach,
in the unknown “Up North”
swimming amid hundreds of pristine lakes
craved with the wonder of a newborn.
Both, foreign to the Midwest roads
always cut with straight-curved lines
the watermelon,
cantaloupe, or cabbage-messy heads success
and the rest drowning in the mellow marsh,
they finally found that axle;
in the middle of nowhere–
the old country school
and the new-old church across
melded with the call of wilderness.
They countered the dirt roads challenges,
they liked the cool breeze
of the outcry
painted on the nature face of freedom–
the banner of the Manistee National forest.
Before almost all pieces fell together
they dreamed too far and too often;
the full-time teaching job on the West-coast;
California, Oregon, Washington state…
Once they realized who they were anyway–
never simple “give-in-to-the-right-away”
they unconsciously flipped and
all their life-time of studies, and degrees
suddenly turned graduation tussles backwards again.
They bought the cheap swamp property
up North, close to that country school and the church
looking so white
as the Midwest suburbia district on a bumpy road.
They grew the garden
as their own room for a thought,
with the rainbow, hummingbird
and the new philosophy of life
that suddenly turned from so called “safe”
into the cayenne preppers “risks”
pushing them to face
the “first-settlers” extremes
which lines they could recite so well,
but couldn’t fight the raccoon’s slaughter chickens rampage
followed by feral cats’ riots–, wild rabbits’ worms,
and winter long nights with crunchy ice horns;
City education touched the long separation
nights of the wild,
they drove from town to country
miles and miles.
People wondered, but liked them.
Many talked behind so suspicious
in the attempt
to rust their left
into the amorphous of the auspicious.
Some turned them off for never
marching the provincial right.
With no tractors or plows
they grew that overgrown garden up North;
Zucchinis, egg-plants, tomatoes,
yellow squash, corns, potatoes,
onions, green papers
tart cherries,
fallen plumps and peaches,
honey-crisp apples,
and cayenne preppers
ready to trade their experience
and knowledge
for the next day
eternally awaiting
for the breakfast
as if it is the last porridge.

Pin It on Pinterest

Share This