They think it's bad in the city,
tell them to come out here. Cars fly
by a hundred miles an hour
and my kids in the yard. I wire
the gate, but you can't be sure,
so I laid seven big stones across
the road. First one hit them
sounded like it knocked the front
end out. They slowed down.
That ain't the half of it.
We been ripped off, twice.
None of us was home, thank God,
but they took it all, even the kids'
Fisher Price tape recorder.
Sheriff looks but it's a big county.
Insurance didn't pay half the cost,
then raised our rates. Country
folks turning into bad risks,
he said. I told him what I
thought. He sent me a check,
then a bill.
Last week, I look out
and see this nut with a shaky
hand and a gun in our yard,
screaming. We got neighbors
cooking drugs and he thought our
house was theirs. I hid the kids,
locked the door, waited on the couch
with a .12 gauge. He went away.
Now I make sure little Josh and Samantha
are in before sundown. We wait
for Daddy who tends the calves after
eight hours at the tire plant.
We eat, wash, watch TV, then try to hear
the crickets in the midst of it all.
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