O Lord, I have a thirst for more Miller Lite and to drag the rowboat through the sycamore threaded dunes, to feel the weight of my freedom tugged behind me, and at water’s edge push off towards the west and find a passage to the Pacific. I was short with my drunk neighbor today, Lord, after he backed into my station wagon with his truck. Damn Michigan no-fault insurance, Lord. Damn the broken taillight. But, just now, as I finished mowing I opened another Miller Lite and thought how nice it would be to have another. And when I’m drunk in the lawn as the evening pushes on, let the yellow cucumber blossoms burn another sun into my vision. And thank you for the Mennonites and their sweet tomatoes, the blue heron and happy hour. Thank you for the rowboat, Lord, that leaves a dry wake through the sand. And keep the light from the fireworks a while longer, Lord.