This Is Mississippi Poem by Phillip Liu

Each puddle's mirrored sheen
Shatters in way of my worn out Nike Trainers.
Water drops explode toward me,
Like an old cartoon man saying, 'Darn you kids! '

In the wind, I can feel Autumn
And its menthol touch.
But the trees bustling around me like rioters
hang on to Summer, protesting Autumn with green leaves.

Tangled barbed-wire fences
Hold back the rioting oaks and evergreens.
They've stood their ground and have yet to fall,
And now, immersed in weeds, they don't at all.

Leaving the forest behind, I come to an oopen field.
The aroma of fresh manure streams
Stirred up by green and yellow mechanical beetles
Crawling along a corn field
With wheels bigger than Yao Ming
And a 'hungry-hippo' appetite

This is Mississippi in late September.
'Hickassippi, ' says the one-strap overalls
Of the old man I pass on my daily run.
He's enjoying an afternoon beer on the side of the hill
Overlooking those beetles working the fields.

There's no 'Hi. How are you? ' between us.
Just a tip of his bottle, answered by my two-fingered wave.
Nothing more is needed or wanted
Like Mississippi, the old man is content
Just sitting there, drinking his beer.