Fly-Over Country

July 27 2020

They call this “fly-over country;”

the coastal elites

at 30,000 feet

between L.A. and New York.

Where glancing down

they see the tops of clouds

or a dull expanse of dark,

before returning to some cool Chablis

slipping eye masks on.

While we hear the far-off sound of jets

see con-trails overhead.

But really, couldn't care less

for their striving

status

designer clothes,

hours under tanning lamps

fine cosmetic nose.

Because we have space, trees, neighbours,

a quiet lake

and lots of room for dogs.

No theatre, opera, big-time sports;

just high-school kids in Camelot

some pick-up ball

an oompah band in shorts.

The paparazzi don't bother us.

We like being ignored.

A trifle, I know. I had the idea of riffing on "fly-over country", and this pretty much wrote itself.  Not really a meaningful piece; but kind of fun. ...Not meaningful, except that it celebrates common sense and groundedness,while gently mocking the essential insecurity of those who presume to sneer and judge. (And they do. The very expression – fly-over country – says it all!)