Just a mile and a half
Stretches between nowhere and nowhere.
But between,
All walks come together to share
Modest connections
And small-town charms
Between the soybean fields
And cattle farms.
Looking closely, there’s a lively town
A print shop, some banks,
Baseball field, a church—
Congregations giving thanks

To the little they have in this ship of friends,
Neighbors, family, teammates, and kin

That have been locked up and bruised
Left in this place, seemingly alone.
Or they are doctors and lawyers
Who now all call home.

And you don’t say goodbye to home.

Crackling rocks beneath the tires
Skip in every direction across the narrow,
Rocky alley
That leads to the cracker box—
Tinted with mint shutters
And the gaudy red door
That opens to the always-too-hot living room
Where the kids
(Those 3-53 years old)
Wrestle and play
When the rain dances on the sheet metal roof
And lather on sunscreen
When rays skip off the lake
And test the shades resting on our noses
That nearly slip off
When we scoop bass from each cast
That will sit on our stomachs
And soothe us to sleep
In front of the only TV this place
Has ever called its own,
Flashing Scooby and Shaggy
For the hundredth time—
That, for the next 48 hours,
Will serve us well.