Long Lonesome High Low

That Adair’s Nebraska village had a bus station, but no church, was an objective feature of America’s heartland.

Did the village ever have a train station?

This is a question we must approach by remembering what Walt Whitman declared,

“Whereupon lo! upsprang the aboriginal name.

Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient,

I see that the word of my city is that word from of old,

Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb,”

Margaret has spent several hours polishing the bus station. That’d poop anyone out. She takes a little nap, knowing full well Adair and her parents are coming in, and if they see her this way, they’ll report her to authorities. Charge: sleeping on the job. The higher-ups at Greyhound might very well hand down a ruling.

In Donald J. Trump’s terms: YOU, MARGARET, ARE FIRED!

Margaret is pooped out from applying elbow grease to the bus station. She doesn’t argue. She’s pooped out, not poped out. Papal authority, of which Donald J. Trump knows little, fiddles about.