The land,

like the dreams of a mistress

who allows every conceivable act. 

Who says, with a smile,

'This is my true calling.'

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                                      On Sunday, wooden wheels scatter the dirt,

                                      in God's hands they quake while the land below

                                      welcomes their seed, and their good wives wait

                                      for their fix;

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                                      sewing gingham to taffeta to an occasional sigh, and

                                      'oh dear,' while her sleeping child dreams wildly, his

                                      father's dream of being left alone with America,

                                      of seven minutes in heaven as he dances across the

                                      Appalachian Plateau,

                                      Mississippi Valley,

                                      The Rockies,

                                      into thick arms of a mistress who welcomes and is vast,

                                      her vagina the shape of an hourglass.

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