They till the soil in Spring with solid souls,
Farmers, horses, machines—all look like gods.  
Waitresses and cashiers chirp like sparrows
At the local cafe, the five and dime.
Country school teachers speak with sweet passion:
Their eyes smile like stars doing a tap dance.
A wife washes clothes, rings them out by hand,
Her husband does dishes with a whistle.
An old basset hound barks to say “life’s good”,
His tail wagging, winking at a bone’s grin.
The local banker counts his crisp money,
He looks at the clock; it’s time to go home—
His wife is waiting, the kids need a hug.
The baker licks her fingers—sweet cake dough,
She inhales a whole sugar universe.
Her soul is like jelly doughnut perfume.
The town drunk’s not a fool—philosophy
Is what keeps him dancing back to the bar.
Plato is his buddy, Aristotle
His organizer of truth, even Kant
Strolls calmly in his mind’s merry-go-ground.
The carpenter looks at his hands and smiles,  
Another callus hardened like a nail,
Another scar made from his love for wood.
The fire chief keeps his smart nose to the wind,
A true samurai warrior in disguise.
The mechanic’s black fingers rotate bolts,
Examining the essence of the car—
His spirit accepting a new challenge,
His mind spinning like colors of a top.
The barbershop’s clean, loose hair all swept up,
The barber stands alone, soaking in stories.
Our town drunk knocks on his door, gives a wink;
For it’s time to discuss the origin
Of man over a cold pint of his own
Carefully brewed amber from the basement
Where even the busy ants look forward
To imbibing a sweet brown drop or two.  
The barber closes up shop, lights go out.
The wise drunk, the barber waltz down the street,
All’s good, all’s well with these Midwestern folks
In this busy work-loving, life loving
Town where each soul is a song with a home.