Idaho Poem #1

This short poem was written while traveling with my sister through northern Idaho, en route to Spokane, Washington.  The area is known to be a hotbed for bigotry, and it was this profane spirit that provided “inspiration.”

This land
Our land?
There is no music in its joy
But sorrows, they echo
Crucified upon telephone poles
Bloodied on endless highways
God’s country is by invitation only
Scattering carelessly bad seeds are spread
They’re rancid, ruined
Burning sage and singing bittersweet spirituals
Attending rodeos and climbing misty mountains
There is no music
Only endless highways, and audible but senseless random notes
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