collaborative effort

A few weeks ago Doug, Christy, Amanda, Peter and I were sitting at the table in the kitchen talking. We started talking about Jonathan and how sometimes we help him pick out good outfits. Someone said "as americans how much do we really help him with style?" then Christy said "we totally do! what do you think we are? Backwoods men, and backwoods women??" Then Peter exclaimed "backwoods woman! That is a poem."

The next two hours was a creative poetry fest, with lots and lots of tea.

BACKWOODS WOMAN

Harry, she sits, po-dunk on a bucket.
Her clothing, it drapes her. All plaid-shod is she.
Picklin' an egg, thereafter to suck it,
She picks at her leg-hair contemplatively.
She can't get that preachin', that circuit-man's preachin'
'Bout hell-fire's hot brimrocks and heaven's hard road,
'Bout Lucifer's badness and sweet Jesus' teachin'
To leave her in peace; it's a right heavy load!
"CLUCK!" squacks an old hen, breakin' off her soul-ticklin',
And pecks her right where her left shoe should have been.
She kicks off the chicken, gets back to her picklin',
And never thinks 'bout that old preacher again.

And so a poem it is.