BY HANNAH SKIPPER

When I was young, I traveled the Oregon Trail.
I started out in Independence, Missouri
and I went to the General Store.
I bought a wagon and oxen and sometimes horses too.
I bought plenty of food and medicine.
Starting out, I was full of hope and dreams of glory.
Victory was sure to be mine.

But Oregon Trail had other ideas.
I lost mother and father, sister, brother, and friends.
Sometimes I died too.
Other times, my journey simply ended in failure.
There were many reasons for my demise.
Cholera, dysentery, typhoid, or some other fever,
poisonous berries or a snake bite,
stampedes, flash floods, and Indian raids,
bankruptcy and injury;
they all spelled doom for me.

It would have been nice to see the Pacific Ocean.
and know that I had won.
But I never reached that western shore.
I never beat the game.
The computer beat me every time.

I’m older now, but I still ponder.
This one thing, I’d like to know.
How did the west coast become so populated?
For I know no one who has ever beat the game.