I’ve been busy with a publicist trying to kickstart my newest novel in this crazy world. If you’re interested, it’s called Murphys Diggins, the second in my Endless Times series. Pick one up from this web page, e-book, or paperback, and help a starving author. Don’t forget to give me a review! However, if not, read my poem Gas; it’s free, along with my often tongue-in-cheek comments. Sometimes the comments reflect my feelings, and this is one. I don’t know about you, but the world has me concerned. I really like living in the country with at least clean air and a chance to be somewhat abby-normal. Tuck some food and water back; things could go south, be a scout, be prepared.

GAS

Living in the country saves me a penny,

My love for a city, go on, haven’t any.

At least out here, it’s ok if truck has no gas,

Sitting in the water cools my chapped ass!

Some groceries can be grown, others hunted,

Ask why shelves are skinny; answer is punted.

Hide in the woods, safe from most noisy masses,

Cheap trip on the farm, smoke exotic grasses.

Like Hank says, got shotgun, rifle, forty-five,

Fish in the river, country folks can survive.

The new Green Deal’s idea is somewhat obscene,

My horse got to poop, but don’t use gasoline.

For heat, wood to burn, batteries charge from the sun,

Unseen in the shadows when nowhere to run.

Hand-pumped well-water fine, this boy not high class,

No fuel, city goes dry, on thirsty I pass.

Comes down to basics, my friend. Are you ready?

Can’t stomp out prepared, eyes clear, heart holds steady.

Time past to be quiet; please forgive my sass,

I never choked off drilling, turned off the gas.