Dead leaves mixed with candy bar wrappers and cut grass still green. Kids play on swings while old men smoke cigarettes on front porches of the Midwest.

Pumpkins smashed by boys drunk of drink from their fathers liquor cabinets. Young girls dream of homecoming dances.

Fields of corn now brown. Stalks dying. Soon to be tilled back into the earth; where we all will be.

And church bells ring out on a Sunday morning. Calling us all to prayer. Worn out from Saturday night’s folly, we stumble through doors, dipping fingers into holy water. The face of Jesus looks down on all of us, saying, Don’t let me down. But, we do. For we are humans in a Midwestern town.