Poem: Americans All, Under the Shell

By: Ruth Z. Deming


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.


Categories: Poetry

Tagged as: ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.