In This Rugged Terrain
Our hilly place sounds like World War III now
with the fly boys seesawing across our skies.
Most times they come in twos close enough
to cut your grass or so it seems. They say that
we look like the mountains of Afghanistan.
Our rocky Appalachian slopes have become
a mock Taliban stronghold. My little white dog
sniffs and stares at the ceiling. I think of my
son-in-law overseas in his fourth deployment
and the war upon us rattling the windows. The
fight is at home too. Eagles scream in
echoes. I pray for his safe return and a return
to sanity. I pray for quiet in our mountain town.
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