A barn, a silo, rich-soil fields all packed
with crops to feed the moms and pops, enough
to take the rest to market for some cash.
This portrait hangs retired to a wall,
ignored and somehow fitting for the scene
of what was once, when meals consisted of
whatever local farmers could make grow–
some corn or wheat, tomatoes fed them well,
relaxing fireside before they fell
asleep, a good night’s rest–all status quo
was fine. The seasons, sun and rain above
brought much abundance, or at times passed lean
Until new generations heard the call
of cities where the life ran bold and brash,
where music played and drinks bought on the cuff
caused such excitement that the farm had lacked.
Now Kalettes–all the rage–it’s understood.
Our tastes have redefined just what is good.