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I am angry, on fire.
Running to escape pains.
I get in the car, turn it on
Drive to escape feelings.
Down the neighborhood street
Lined with trimmed lawns and bushes
Neat and tidy with the air of superiority –
We are homeowners, a better class.
I think I am a snob to live here.
I turn onto the main drive;
Head out of town
Toward four lane Route 25.
Green, green, please be green.
Odds are against me, but yes!
I glide through and am freed –
In rural country now, speed heightens.
I create my own breeze as I pass corn fields,
Soy fields, fertile fields of all kinds.
Ranches with cow conglomerates;
Ranches with equestrian jumpers.
Soon I am nowhere in particular —
I know this because there is a post office –
Well, a house, converted to sorting mail
With a zip code and an eagle out front.
Dusk is coming to the Midwest plains.
I have found true farming country,
Where homes are miles apart as the bird flies –
And I fly too, smiling, free of bothers and concerns.
I stop at a diner, order a BLT and pie.
The waitress smiles, knows I am a stranger;
Asks where I’m from…I pause, contemplate –
“I don’t know, but this place is Marvelous”.