now at the end of this ‘73 scandalous year
proving our gluttony
when energy, government, prices fail
when wars continue and children still starve
when Wounded Knee lies wounded yet
here in Dakota December on sunbursting dawn
spread around the dark flat horizon
to the southeast
Kohoutek, the Christmas comet*
streaks small, like hope does
over deserted family farms
where frost-covered cattle snort steam
and pheasants flap lumbering over the fields
the early morning driver earthbound
going at 50 through dull brown prairies
looks east and thinks happy
of friend-times
of family joys
of the teeny ways
we celebrate, despite.