Their Social Contract

They squat, scattered along the
backwoods highway, a forlornly
depressed area of a wealthy nation
whose time had never arrived;
townspeople content in the
predictable familiar, an area
whose residents, steeped in the
love of their forefathers who
toiled with scant reward
see nothing to be gained by the
curiosity leading invariably to
greener pastures, for their own
is deemed sufficiently green, if
not overly productive. There they
live out their lives, in the comfort
the confines their town offers,
for their plight of poverty is
universal to their heritage and
experience. Not for lack of pride
do they remain, the codgers, young
and old, pledging allegiance to
their nation, their flag, but placing
their trust and emotional investment
in what they hold most dear, what
their poppy and their mammy valued,
circumspection and suspicion
of the world so alien beyond
the confines of town and country
where all are known and held
in fondly confident contempt.