Bullseye

Why want to be in the middle?
Everywhere’s middle of somewhere.

Try getting out of the middle!
That will teach you. Up the high hill,

So far from the provincial town
That’s so far from the big city

Any child raised in such quiet
Would dream every day of leaving

For any place more exciting,
Still, before long, someone drops in,

Or more jet planes roar overhead,
Or the woods catch fire thanks to drought,

Or a drone buzzes you, humming
On its way to explode somewhere.

You can’t get out of the center.
Why worry about getting there?