Turn his back on twin rivers
Brimming with sails
Dazzling, dancing in the sun
Rolling inexorably to
The bay?
Who could forsake softball,
Keno, bingo camaraderie
With pool-shooting, crab-picking
Pickup-driving deer slayers
Forsake the hams kale and cabbage stuffed
With holiday ceremony?
Forsake the charm of Amish farms
Rocking down rutted gravel roads
On to church or market with
Echoing hooves clopping on pavement like
Grandfather clocks gone insane inside
The rumble of buggy wheels?
Oh! St. Mary’s,
Tobacco barns’ tin roofs rusting,
Framed oak beams groaning, leaning,
Poplar planks rotting
To the sandy soil.