Cursed Calm

Even I, so grandly discontent, must pause, at some
Point, to acknowledge this most inconvenient fact:
At evening, here, upon the plains, within the shade
Of soaring maples, on the edge of endless rows of corn
Almost so high as men, and underneath a sky which
Overwhelms the flat but fertile land, the heat, the sun,
The long and empty days, Nebraska in July, are all
That even I could want, and, with a drink and
Without interruptions from upheavals taking place
In places out of sight beneath the calm horizon line,
I find I am not discontent. I don't know what to do.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 26 times
Written on 2011-07-11 at 13:34

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