Does Cindy Matter That Much?

Today's Poem:

I won't volunteer
But I'll give Rush a cheer

At my courage, kindly do not snicker
Note my Hummer's flag and bitchin' bumper sticker

So, sure I could enlist
But think of the wrasslin and NASCAR I'd missed

So though I love my truck, dog and gun,
I hear real war ain't all that fun

Today's thoughts:

First, I don't look down on rural folk. I am rural folk. Dad grew wheat and raised hogs and cattle and Mom fed us home grown veggies and hens she killed and dressed herself. My fondest memories revolve around the home place and rural Logan, Kansas.

So, in a way, I understand how the folks in Crawford, Texas feel to have Cindy Sheehan and her anti-war crowd camping out in their town protesting the war and demanding to meet Bush and ask him why her son had to die in Iraq.

They don't like it. They don't understand why she has to run down W., the war and, so they think, America.

I respect that viewpoint as honorable even if I don't share it.

What I don't get is the constant attacks on her by the likes of Matt Drudge, Flush Windbagg and Shrill O'Really. Is she so threatening that her every trait, word and deed have to be trashed, thrashed and gashed?

Yes and I'll tell you why: This bitch of a war was a mistake and the leaders of the Right know it. But they think to admit the truth is to admit weakness. However, attacking a Mom is risky. I'll have more on that tomorrow.

Here's a poem for my godson's dad:

August.
A cottonwood amid brown grass.
You at the wheel while I watch a hawk.

August.
The cows are fine.
The pump's running.
We have supper waiting on us.
What more could we ask?

Keep hoping.