The Country In-Between
My husband and I,
were driving by
slow spinning wind mills,
rusted tin silos,
deserted corn stalks,
and forbidden dirt roads.
We were headed for the city,
from our home in another city,
and taking in the country in-between.
Manure diluted the exhaustive smell
of the interstate. Strands of my
permanently colored hair smelled like it,
and my husband's iPod, playing "Jack and Diane,"
must have smelled like manure too.
We were driving to the city,
from our home in another city,
and taking in the country in-between.
It seemed the whole world was a corn field,
raising sovereign silos, building nations with John Deers,
segregated by dirt roads, walled off by wild flower fences.
My husband commented on the absence of road kill.
He reasoned that the people were kinder in the country,
but I disagree, I think its those wild flower fences.
We were driving to the city,
from our home in another city,
and taking in the country in-between.
I saw the world through shades, non-existent tints.
For two hours the radio fizzled, I fingered the iPod,
I nodded to the breeze. My husband was the last antenna
that could reach me, I'd gone in between the corn stalks,
tramping down a forbidden dirt road. I'd gone to visit
the houses behind the trees and ask for something,
I don't know what, it was just an excuse to stop.
Truth be told, I was tired of driving.
Tired of being away from home.
were driving by
slow spinning wind mills,
rusted tin silos,
deserted corn stalks,
and forbidden dirt roads.
We were headed for the city,
from our home in another city,
and taking in the country in-between.
Manure diluted the exhaustive smell
of the interstate. Strands of my
permanently colored hair smelled like it,
and my husband's iPod, playing "Jack and Diane,"
must have smelled like manure too.
We were driving to the city,
from our home in another city,
and taking in the country in-between.
It seemed the whole world was a corn field,
raising sovereign silos, building nations with John Deers,
segregated by dirt roads, walled off by wild flower fences.
My husband commented on the absence of road kill.
He reasoned that the people were kinder in the country,
but I disagree, I think its those wild flower fences.
We were driving to the city,
from our home in another city,
and taking in the country in-between.
I saw the world through shades, non-existent tints.
For two hours the radio fizzled, I fingered the iPod,
I nodded to the breeze. My husband was the last antenna
that could reach me, I'd gone in between the corn stalks,
tramping down a forbidden dirt road. I'd gone to visit
the houses behind the trees and ask for something,
I don't know what, it was just an excuse to stop.
Truth be told, I was tired of driving.
Tired of being away from home.