i. corn
After enough corn fields I
start to get a sense for how
the folks who grow the corn to
feed the cows who fart out the
corn to be breathed in by the
birds of the sky and the beasts of the field
—America’s rocket fuel—
learn to tell the difference
between one ear
and the next
ii. moon
My dad watched the space race
on the
wooded-in TV set on the beige carpet
and the
Star Trek pajamas and he still thinks
that the
moon landing was real for god’s sake
and for
all we know it could be.
Then his dad died of lung cancer.
Must have been breathing something in.
iii. politicians
You ever notice those yard signs
for politicians?
Yea me neither well actually I guess
I have
Except I don’t know at all what a
Commissioner does
And it never changed my vote
I just go
For the ones who seem like they’ve got the most
rocket fuel.
It’s a metaphor, my dude
Just like how
The hilarious anachronous quaint
small town sits
In all its mayoral upheaval
it sits
Precisely a three-minute drive from the
highway rest stop
With the Hardees and the shitter and the
trail mix.
iv. pileups
My dad has this daydream about doing this cross-country trip where he never touches a highway—back roads only. I think that sounds cool but I also think if you want to “see America” you really gotta check out the whole family of road-killed deer right under the billboard that says You Are Now Entering Sovereign Seneca Land or the five-car pileup right under the one that says Fireworks King Of America Buy One Get Two Free just over the Pennsylvania border. It’s a metaphor, my dude. A fortuitous juxtaposition. I pulled over and bought one. It was shaped like a rocket.
