so my roommate and I
decide to take a vacation
to the only place that we can afford: chi-chi
Columbia, Missouri.

We're driving along the Missouri highways, and
everything,
of course, is for sale:
fireworks and firearms,
young girls and old whiskey,
burgers and brassieres,
lawyers on billboards,
dirt-cheap dirt, and lots and lots
of church.

Prairies, verdant and golden.
Prairie hawks, circling the skies
      like razors.
And mildew-spotted farmhouses
grown over with Jimson weed,
chickweed, and mallow,
also marked,
      For sale.

All our windows are open today.
The sky slides up my neck
      like a lover.