The Corn Belt
Pressing in on I-70,
From the Mississippi, through Illinois, into Indiana,
All there are, for as far as wide is deep, farther,
Are pied-plot swaths of this nation's Corn Belt —
Ubiquitous, infinite farms,
Each a modern feudal-estate island unto itself,
With blue-shuttered white houses, tree-shaded yards,
Red-sided barns, green tractors and combines,
Silver feed bins, brown and black cows.
A simple equation for a back-breaking occupation:
An onerous day's work for an honest day's wages,
Man's give-and-take with the land.
04/16/09 - (1)
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