In fact, we barely knew your slim thicketof zip codes could be so easily shruggedfrom memory, there wasn’t even a backseat side-eye.We don’t belong to this hatched argumentshush baby, Furies sometimeslike to engine up old curses, barb intoevery word until they shut up altogether.
September is lodged in my throatthough I’m still not sure why a bunchof cardboard boxes should leave medry-mouthed, craving something cold to sip.Begin with Iowa, its road leads awaynext to a track with no train near a wave of faded cornstalksbugs smack the windshield phing phing phongCrows jangle figure eights above the caruntil they grow boredthen it’s just us moving fromand to landing anywhere.
***
Photo by Kimmy Williams on Unsplash