My Kind of America

Conch Republic
Got to hit the road and try to find
My kind of America. It’s out there

Somewhere: not too crowded,
A farmer’s market weekly

At the time of day convenient for
Both the workers and the farmers.

People reading books. Bike lanes and
Sidewalks and garden boxes

Where brown and white
Mix happily as a twist cone.

Leaders lead for the sake of civic
Betterment, even if decisions

Break their hearts. Company:
Everyone enjoys company for supper,

And says hello to strangers passing by;
Dogs race off leash along

Lakeside paths: fathers carry
Their babies and change them too.

Family is nearby. Neighbors watch
The kiddos for a bit while

You dash to the shop for ingredients.
Everyone drinks tap, not bottled.

Little ones fill yards and
Driveways, tumbling from one to another.

Teachers call. Playground noise
Pollutes the air for blocks around.

Music, too, live from the gazebo,
And pouring from windows and bars.

Artists are worshipped, their
Murals coating every cement wall.

And voices, all timbres, volumes and pitches,
Sing out directions, angst, recipes,

And poetry like waterfalls.

Elizabeth Howard

Elizabeth writes literary non-fiction, haiku, cultural rants, and Demand Poetry in order to forward the cause of beautiful writing. She calls London, Kansas City, and Iowa home.