No need to mention guns or war.
Instead I intend to rattle on about
how vividly blue this late July sky,
how golden the ripe wheat,
how I drive slow behind combines —
Kubota, New Holland, John Deere,
an occasional International Harvester —
as they lumber from field to field,
how these combines will blow grain
into the trucks by their sides,
how our three tall grain elevators
stand ready, and the river barges wait.
So much beautiful, nourishing wheat.
And those guns, mass starvation,
the world’s many hatreds? No, please,
not today. This is me refusing to think.
Forgive me. Or don’t.
