Under all
That open
Buttermilk
Sky,
Tooling carelessly
Down an
Open road:
What a peripateetic existence.
Dad,
Knocking around
For automotive
Parts
To support
The family.
Mom,
Joking, singing,
And dancing
The way to
A Brock
Candy Co.
Outlet.
Her beauty-
Parlors askance.
We,
Me and my
Sister,
Joked, sang,
And danced
To avoid the
Handscrabble
Life of
Nickel-and-
Dime saving
And making-
Do.
The quintessential
American tale
Of every
Midwestern kid:
From Illinois
Hick
To Chicago
Poet
To university
Servitude.
Urbanity lacking:
A romantic
Longing that
Haunts.
Nothing sexual.
An agrarian
Landscape,
A prelapsarian
Existence,
Never feeling
Fully at home.
An idealized
Vision
Of life
Receding
In the rear-View
Mirror.
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