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How long it's been since I have seen
this green and yellow patchwork
quilt of land, great plainness inspiring
only wheat and corn to grow not "oohs" or
"look at that" unless prosperity ensues,
confettied now and then in corners of
a square a bit of tan or white impersonal
from here the window shaded eyes
protecting family life within.
Nearby a drive connects a larger patch of red
the money bed where tractors sleep no
hay-fed horses now behind the plow
that soon will shave the miles of grain
to process bread and animal feed for
peoples in need, and all along the edge
a lazy river winds between banks thick with
broccoli tops of trees that hide a shady grove for
cows to rest or maybe just a picnic glade,
a hideaway for summer's kids and dogs
how long it's been.
Beneath a cloud a town revealed in
clustered squares and there, a football field
along the highway vein whose gainful
loads of harvest gold will pay for seed
and farm repairs, a constant need repeated
since my youth, yet boring to a
younger summer of myself.
The view begets new questions now:
how long will there still be this
dynasty, this chain of endless toil
when generations yet to come
are born to till this soil? how long
will they still care to raise unfurled
the banner of this fertile place
"bread basket of the world"?
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