an old poem i found while cleaning my room
we were all mad for the mountains
nearly all of us, that is
the second youngest opted for omaha
without bra, and a few fotos
next to the saddle creek mile marker
i, as the eldest, experienced enduring expectations for some life jolting changes
(like when i’d apply paper clip to power outlet as my outlet for attention in canadian sixth grade sciences classes)
my problem, as she used to see it, is that i beat the beat poets into my skull spaces
romantic misogyny, you know?
there is so much corn along I-76
i’ve never been so silent around so many ears.
