Home is where good fortune is two dogs
and a gracious plenty is three
where it’s whispered Agent Orange was spread
to clear the fields for cattle, where our worries
smolder in the pastures like a spring burn,
where even our best beloved neighbor
has a cache of guns, where the chicken houses
susurrate with the murmur of debeaked hens
and the stench of pigs raised on concrete
rinses into the Buffalo River, where the big road
is coming to our little mountains, where we eat what
the tourists leave and our animals get the scraps.
