True Pioneers

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There are horrible people who want
To float houseboats down the Wabash
And read Vonnegut to their children

Nutcases that think it good
To subsist on sorrel and squirrel
Reading Ramana Maharshi in the woods

Terrible people who have walked twelve miles to town
Just to buy chocolate

Childish scoundrels unaware the great
Debt that they owe society

And they go around singing
About the boy in buckskin and the gal in calico
Looking for pots to wear on their heads
And drunk on cider

The worst of them have
Eyes that sparkle like
Hot blue embers of a campfire
After everyone else is gone asleep

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