The Land

We were pleased to claim this land for Jesus. We raised cities that were bear free. Our faith in 'better and bigger' soared; meth fueled crime leapt still greater. Cracks appeared where a garish paint had weathered the sky. Plaster flamingos crumbled, angelic limbs hung down caught in ceiling fissures. Plastic arrows littered pink concrete. It was a Mall dream; it was our dream. We began to covet the uncollectable. In far off lands worker ants labored to deliver all things desirable. Homespun was undone, yet plaid clad truck wranglers still wrote their country songs. Impedimenta impeded the improperly taught. Log cabins transported themselves to theme parks, too little hope clogged casinos floors, rage stalked the freeways uncaged. God spoke to us, urged us to fill storage units with long raked-over junk, holy relics in duct taped boxes, all piled most neatly in that persnickety old-timey way of the Midwest.