some may misconceive the fact that
those among us who say quaint
phrases known mostly to our kin
from way down home portray an
ig'nant nature; and some may even
contemplate the myth that southern
tongues are of a lesser intellectual
nature. . .

but now we labor aimlessly in 
stressful little concrete boxes
we are chastis'd,  written up for asking
intelligent questions from having endur'd
the confines of constricting cubes decorated
with thumb-tack'd photos of those we love
who we hope love us back. . .and we bend over
backwards to the whims of the brainwash'd executives
whose box'd up corner office cubes sit on the foundations
of those who lie entomb'd and forgotten from the 
fields that once breath'd life  into hills and meadows;
and streams that nursed sediment of the ages
into luscious lakes and respite rivers that somehow
befriend'd the weary and thirty creatures, and trees
whose roots suckl'd nourishment for the food that
feeds the planet. . .

now those same waters of life declare
by the rule of a steriliz'd gavel that there will be
"no swimming"
"no fishing"
"no boating" and maybe even
"no baptizing" [if it ever comes to that. . .]

but for those of you who have no clue
as to what it's like to be REALLY country,
let me tell y'all sump'n:
ain't nothin' wrong with bein' country. . .
and all y'all who think otherwise
need to go on and remind yourselves of the fact
that everything about being in Modern America
started in  the backbone,
in the backdrop,

and the backwoods of an untax'd wilderness
before all the city folk stole it from the children
of the sea and sky, the same city folk who
do the same rhythmless song and dance
that carries with it no celebration or significance,
and in the end, not even the robin can rejoice
in the spring of renewal...capitalism ain't nevah
been about renewal except for the interest of those
who take no interest in the ones who gave their lives
for the good of "the country."

 © 2007 cynth'ya lewis reed