I found this poem in the "papers" left by my Great-Great Grandfather The Rev. Johnson: I did a quick google search and didn't find anyone else to credit this poem to. So governor Schwarzenegger pay attention..
The California farmer gets up at the alarm of a Connecticut clock; buttons his Chicago suspenders to Detroit overalls, washes his face with Cincinnati soap in a Pennsylvania basin, wipes on a Rhode Island towel, sits up to a Grand Rapids table, eats Kansas City meat and Minneapolis flour with Idaho potatoes cooked with Indiana lard on a St. Louis stove, burning Wyoming fuel.
He puts a New York bridle on a Colorado broncho fed on Iowa corn; plows five acres of land,(covered with Ohio mortage) with a Chatanooga plow. When bedtime comes, he reads a chapter from the Bible printed in Boston; says a prayer written in Jerusalem; crawls under a blanket made in New Jersey; only to be kept awake by fleas,-- the only product of his home state.
(Poem probably circa 1945 just a guess)
WHAT IS DIFFERENT TODAY: THE FLEAS CAN'T AFFORD TO LIVE IN CALIFORNIA, ALL MORTAGES ARE (TOXIC) ,AND EVERYTHING IS MADE IN CHINA.