I am Chestnut Ridge churned out.
Someone asks me to casserole cabins;
someone pretends at Sunday school squabbles.

Dresses will muddy;
Jeeps will sing.
Tell me to stay gold, Ponytail.

I know you need Route 56 remarried.
Of course the blight claimed the trees,
but no one divorces for a name.

There was a flood, but we lived
at the top of a hill and picked apples
red as farmhouse wagoning.

I’ve accepted that
I am dropped-d Bedford.