In dark three-buttoned suits,
sober men of importromanticize the farmer
as an image of Napoleon
standing over fresh dirt,
hand held deep in flannel plaid.
These officing men
avoid the unbearable:
the farmer pawns used cars
and chips the white paint
off his own porch columns.
With dramatic flaunt,
the farmer sows cooked rice
on dry and unplowed ground
to fulfill the duties
of his semi-rural position.
Yet inside his unaffected children
dine with no reserve
on income from the sale
of a red side-dented Ford.
This he knows is necessity
to sustain his agriculture.
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