North Dakota

We rode west to Medora, me and Pink Hat,
Where wide North Dakota turns from fertile and flat
To where water and wind and river and rain,
Have scoured stark hills from the soil of the plain.

Pioneers called them “Badlands” in their plainspoken way
(That’s “erosionally challenged” in our lingo today)
A landscape of buttes, bluffs and washes confused
I had come to survey ‘tween my dangling shoes.

The Medora Volunteers came before the sun rose
And wielding the zip tie and helium hose
They raised up my rig in two hours without flagging
Looking forward to breakfast at the Medora Chuck Wagon

They tied on my bright-colored buoyant bouquet
Till my toes left the turf in a tentative way
Then I nodded to Pink Hat, who cut my rig free
To carry me skyward over Medora ND.

I rose over the town with my aircraft inflated 
Where tourists are dined and accommodated....