The Real Midwest

I was defeated today,

below a gray sky.

Love and labor lost,

a counterpoint to victory.

My shadow, though not tall,

grows longer by the day.

My gardens of care are trampled

as I bend to plant new seeds.

The life of a poor man,

is frustrated by fate.

This poor man, son of a

poor manís son,

I wonder if my father struggled so,

before he gave in to defeat.

I wonder if this town will

consume me, as it did him.

Shall I continue to sacrifice,

what could be done,

To what should be done?