Born and Raised There
J. Quinn Brisben
From where the trees slack off
To where the mountains thrust,
Anywhere wheat is raised,
And alfalfa, and cattle are pastured,
Anywhere you can take in
More than one town with
Its sky-stabbing grain elevator
In a single glance, and dust
Hazing the dry grass, and cracked
Posts linked with knotted wire,
And the sense that nothing
Is forever except delusions
That all this goes on forever,
And I am barely moving at
Seventy miles an hour, I am home.
