Sometimes I think I’d be good at country living.
I could live down the road from the guy with the NOUSREAL sign on his lawn
And he’d be afraid of me.
I would tell fortunes with a twang and
Spread Tarot across the kitchen table and
Lie when I saw bad news.
I would make my own goddamn strawberry ice cream
And go whole days without talking to anybody.
Then I doze off on the drive and wake up
Passing places called Grants Pass and Talent,
Nursing blackberry bramble scratches on my elbows.