Field Lament

Backwards and backwater,
hateful and hillbilly,
boring and barren.

My home is forgotten,
a speck of dust on the shelf.
The people here are bitter;

they assume and mutter.
Of course we do, I say.
We have been completely fucked over.

We suckle from a dry mother,
our arid landscape scorched
by aloof fathers and ungrateful
sons and daughters.

They cling to any hope
for an acknowledgement, for a mutter
from their favorite politicians,
for a chance to be remembered.

Nobody notices the
tiny Tuscarawan town
unless children are dying
and a governor stands his ground.

As fast as fame occurs
it quickly evaporates.
Our families weep and mourn
while outsiders grow bored.

My people lean hateful,
unfortunately so,
but when you’ve been exhausted
since age fifteen,

you’ll be sympathetic to the man,
bearded and tatted, missing a finger.
And you’ll trust him more than
suit-clad men with gold teeth.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hi, I'm Elizabeth! I am a history major at Kent State with a hobby for poetry, as well as sketching, writing, and making jewelry. I started using poetry as an alternative to journaling, so most of my poems involve me ranting about whatever annoys me. I come from a very small town on the outskirts of Appalachia, and I was annoyed when people I met from my area scofted when they learned which high school I attended. So, I wrote Field Lament as a way to let the town speak for itself rather than how people may perceive the residents.

Contents

Field Lament

ABOUT THE AUTHOR