I am told this country needs this or that,

Less spending, more taxing the able.

But I remember the old farmhouse and barn,

Where solutions were found ‘round the table.

Where Mother and Dad told daughters and lads,

“We don’t buy what we cannot afford.”

We work for our meat or else we don’t eat,

The hungry are most productive of sorts.

We converse of the needs of all sorts of things,

The country, our family and friends.

We thank God above, we have just enough,

For tomorrow we may go hungry again.

We do homework and gab and the table we grab,

As the belt reminds what we did wrong.

For acting a fool, disrespecting teachers in school,

Or listening to rock and roll songs.

We worked every day without 1 cent pay,

From darkness of morning till night.

No squabble, dissension or law intervention,

Not one collective bargaining right.

We longed for the day we could all move away,

On our journey, our fate or our fable.

Then once again as the world closes in,

We race back to that kitchen table.

And now as I trod to serve family and God,

I am texted, E mailed and tweeted.

Someone is mad; they want something I have,

So I’m off to the court where I’m heeded.

I consider the “progress” I just have to laugh,

and think of that farmhouse and stable.

Family dinner at mom’s, we work it all out,

Where she now has four kitchen tables.

Joe Freeman

Crown City