Summer’s last hurrah has finally abated
The autumnal equinox thus celebrated
Suburban druids glumly shuffle back
To resume their mall duties at Claire’s Piercing Shack
Leaving the season to thus be enjoyed
By less goth-tacular girls and boys
Who rarely spend time taking portraits in trees
Preferring to converse with the Lord on their knees
They travel in packs, budding evangelicals
Their twerkless ways seen by some, puritanical
But, lo, Saturday night they come ready to prove
They also can rock (lightly), this high school youth group
Onto the church bus, vintage 1983
Clambering to way-past-their-prime vinyl seats
They lower the windows, the few that aren’t stuck
As the youth leader re-learns driving stick – double-clutch!
Onward to roads even Amish won’t tread
Lest they breaketh an axle or e’en Uncle Jed
Till a sign at the curve announces at last
“Welcome to Farmer Murray’s Hayrides & Pumpkin Patch”
First to the Maize Maze while light still remains
Some use Google Earth to beat a hasty escape
While couples dive straight into the heart of raw pone
In futile attempts to elude chaperones
Then a roar and a waft of unburnt hydrocarbons
Draws all involved to a flatbed made for haulin’
As old as the pastor and attached to a Deere
Ringed with ragged hay bales to poke every rear
The youths huddle close but dare not to touch
So “Leave room for Jesus!” won’t assault them too much
Singing choruses to hymns with a contemporary beat
That would scare the wig off of good Charles Wesley
After forty-five minutes (or three-quarters a mile)
The hayride is over, but not everyone smiles
For entombed in the hay three earrings lie lost
Along with two contacts and a leather neck cross
But spirits, holyish, are soon set back ablaze
As sticks and dry stalks in a tepee arranged
Are engulfed, like Elijah fought the prophets of Ba’al
(If you don’t catch that reference, Sunday School failed)
Marshmallows are parceled, squishy manna from Walgreens
When Farmer Murray steps forward, his eyes lacking peace
“We cannot roast upon sticks, the county revoked my permit
Thanks to that Episcopalian kid with a fascination for shivs”
No one’s too upset, besides a pyro named Lori
Chocolate needn’t be gooey to give God the glory
For creating Creation, graham and Hershey bars
They eat their s’mores cold under a blanket of stars
“We forgot about pumpkins!” cries Chester McMac
And the group dives into the patch with a collective voice-crack
Tapping and rapping on each orange gourd
To find the sincerest amongst the great horde
“I hope the Great Pumpkin will like what I’ve found!”
“Are you some sort of Calvinist?” “No, I like Charlie Brown.”
Each gathers their bounty quite pleased with their lot
Except the youth leader who just got a rock
Then the guy with the guitar, because there’s always that guy
Starts strumming Danny Gokey and all the girls sigh
Segueing at length to “In the Sweet By and By”
Till someone suggests they go get some pie
So they circle the fire, clasp hands and pray
That Halloween gets canceled (just kidding, by the way)
Back onto the bus, bidding the farmer adieu
They drive for lemon meringue, perhaps French Silk, too
That gives me an idea, I don’t know about you
This article originally appeared in the October 2014 issue of Chatter magazine, which can be found, probably, by clicking here.
Ballad for a High School Youth Group Hayride
