Middle of Nowhere

By Andrew R. Duckworth

Ask for my hometown
The place I grew up
And I’ll tell you
It’s in the middle of nowhere.

Not five thousand souls
Near the ridge
Next to the delta,
Highways bypassing.

There’s some rice fields,
Bean fields, corn fields.
After harvest, they burn
And the aroma stretches for miles.

It’s out in the middle of nowhere
And it’s peaceful.

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