Forget the wrestlers with quick- <br />silver torsos and Spartan shoulders, <br /> <br />the sheen of cornstalks like secrets <br />wrapped in green evening gowns, <br /> <br />sunsets that forgive our clichés <br />of spilled oxblood and lavender, <br /> <br />lakes where marijuana grows wild <br />between farm-towns called Osage <br /> <br />or Sioux City after the lost tribes, <br />teenagers swimming by moonlight. <br /> <br />Forget the impossible darkness <br />of freshly plowed soil, the heat <br /> <br />from the blacktop along 218, <br />fields of turnips and bell peppers <br /> <br />and petunias, each seed pulling <br />a different memory from the earth. <br /> <br />Forget too the full-breasted farm <br />girl blinking purple-tinted contacts <br /> <br />while she wipes each watermelon <br />at the fruit stand—just another one <br /> <br />wishing she were somewhere else.<br /><br />Michael Meyerhofer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/leaving-iowa/
