iowa

you decide
to move on
with your life.
you pack a
bag and go
to the bus station,
you buy a ticket
to iowa. you know
no one in iowa,
which is a good
thing. there will
be plenty of
strangers there
who won't be
bored by you
and what you have
to say. it's a
fresh start. and
when you board
the bus and find
a window seat and
the bus pulls out
from the station,
you wonder if
you've made a
bad decision.
perhaps you should
have given things
another chance.
perhaps you should
have done something
that you haven't
thought of yet.
it's foolish, this
kind of thinking and you
fall asleep for a
very long time, and
when you awaken
the windows are
full of fields,
full of corn, wheat
like burning brush
as far as the eye
can see, long
stretches of
green fields with
arcs of water criss
crossing the rows
and rows, and rainbows.
but this saddens you.
you are already
bored with iowa
and it's farms and
endless planting
and harvesting. you
decide that you
hate iowa and
that five minutes
there is four too
many. you realize
suddenly that leaving
is harder than it
looks.