The Drive


This poem published under Poetry for the Weekend tab


Towns by interstates long bypassed
Housing families many generations
In the midst of uncountable acres of corn –
Tall, ripening, full, tasseled, and proud.

Communities bound by common events:
Plowing, planting, harvesting,
Putting up hay, church suppers, socials,
Celebrations of marriages, funerals, county fairs,
Birthing calves and humans.

Ordinary, regular tasks that constitute life:
Mowing lawns,
Jaunts to the grocery
Or hardware
Or veterinarian
Or to visit family.

Past soy beans lush and green
On the artery that connects east coast to west,
From Maryland to Sacramento,
‘Round curves, down hills,
Traversing rivers and creeks and streams,
Sniffing scents of corn, cut grass, and manure.

A tree nursery appears beyond the bend,
Thousands of saplings striving to survive
And become rustic skyscrapers,
Landscaping homes,
Or protecting them from inclement weather.

A stop at a diner, a place whose existence was unknown prior to today.
We are the only first-time patrons,
But we are not strangers.

A small country store interests us.
We purchase things insignificant, yet memorable.

Finally, an orchard.
Delicious cherry cider – sweet, red, inviting.
A gallon to go, please.

Then return to the suburbs,
To the dwelling called home,
To recall the drive
That burned itself into permanent memory,
And in future days, like a Siren,
Beckons to quaff its fullness again.

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