Crossing State Lines
A welcome sign with a motto
you can conveniently forget
along with the who-the-hell-cares governor’s name.
The highway texture alters to a different key.
Maybe there’s a welcome center
with fairly clean bathrooms
Oh look, you’re in luck, they haven’t
run out of hand towels yet.
Go stretch your legs in that fenced-in grassy area
where the highway crews are storing those
attractive orange-and-white cones.
People muddle around like droning highway zombies.
There’s some sort of plaque at the aluminum pole
where the state flag droops impotently.
The state animal is nowhere to be seen,
although we can assume it’s probably not extinct yet.
There’s also no trace
of whoever the plaque was talking about.
That truck we passed an hour ago just went by.
Okay, let’s get back on the road.