Poem: Americans All, Under the Shell

By: Ruth Z. Deming

americansshell

We are all of one family here under the aluminum shell
of this popular filler-up join
If attacked we would cling
together like wagon trains rolling
across the virgin plains

Bucky, the manager, would protect us,
so would the tie-dyed Harley rider
the woman in the burka would look to him
maybe fall in love with his tattooed muscled might
what loins lurk behind her black full-length gown?

I’ve already fallen for Bucky.
I like his name, his tallness and
the way he shook my hand and said, “May I inquire who
I have the pleasure of speaking to?”
He is mine.

Blushing tenderly
Bucky and I elope cross country
“Yeeha!” he cries to the horses
as we settle down in Jackson Hole
to birth babies and plant our crops
I can still feel my white wedding gown
brushing along the dirt road.

Fickle woman
I fly back home
scan my Giant bonus card
under a blaze of light
then fill her up
the way we did the mares
with wheat and corn and apples
back home in Jackson Hole.

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