I AM FAITHFULLY
REVIVED AGAIN
Crossing the border into Pennsylvania, all I
see - like an echo from a past of gloom - are
fireworks shops begging the traveler. For his
Fourth of July? I guess, already the season
looms. I stay away, hating even the thought
of the noise and the sparkle. I'd rather find the
natural ripple of the local stream than that local
stream of money that screams. How crass and
coarse can all things be? Seems to me, they'd
find a way to proclaim 'Christmas is the day for
fireworks!' Blow 'em off for the new kid's birth.'
And wouldn't those wise men chuckle if they
found out their Star of Bethlehem was just a
massive fireworks on display for them.
-
I count the barns and realize they're gone : more strips
of shopping now than lanes of comfort for a cow :
Every highway store that ever was can be counted
here twice in fifteen miles. Oh wow, so wild.
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