I was out in the middle of nowhere,
eyes hungry for anything green.
All that was there - the miles
upon miles of yard-stick farms,
railroad ties set against the sky
sliding past the car.

Now, I know a little about
the industry,
know the toil of the
farmer, and the precision that goes into
each and every one. Harvest too young,
and you’re left with a measly ruler,
something trivial, and far less
fiscally rewarding.
Too long to ripen, and they become
metric
and everyone knows those are worthless
here in the States.

The farms are never green,
no tomatoes for red splashes,
no wine to take off the edge.
GPS couldn't find me out here,
and I swear that the sign I passed read
"Next Services - ∞ Miles"
This was the
backside of nowhere.
But I called it home,
for a time.

05/04/2009

Posted on 11/15/2010
Copyright © 2024 David Neubauer