Valentine

Don't be sorry that you couldn't come.
There's nothing to this place, a highway
That's the town's main drag, a line
Of storefronts boarded up, and restaurants
Which ladle out the tasteless, starchy food
That people in these parts prefer to eat.
The landscape nauseates. It's endless little
Hills, which, though they're covered now
With grass, are really only sand dunes.
I don't know from where the sand has come.
All that I know is that this place is dismal.
Be glad you stayed home. I'll see you
Late tomorrow, and I'll buy you banh mi
Sandwiches or calamari, anything which
Raises us from this state's blandness,
Emptiness, stupidity, and, until then,
I'll suffer here, another Lawrence lost
In sand, a nomad moving much too slowly
Toward water, culture, something!
Don't be sorry that you never chewed
The marrow of Nebraska. There is nothing
Here. That's why the kids all move away.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 73 times
Written on 2020-08-10 at 14:48

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