Note the Eagle

Farm land filled by disfigured elements,
Those disjointed sunshine rays flipping
By windows girded by Detroit
Steel, camera angles all wrong for mystic views
Of farmers gone wild.

Splitting headaches arrive mornings,
Like disjointed memos
To bosses too eager
For golf.

No water in the coolers,
No Bigalows on the floors,
Just rent to pay, and fields
Of corn zipping past outside,
Your trip to Topeka a cure for politics
Misshapen by fear.

Now the sun is down,
The last
Miles will flick cottonwood fluff
To pieces, each germ holding life itself,
Each tendril hoping
For black earth now
Covered by miles of darkest asphalt.

Maybe your motel will
Have carbonated water
Tinged with raspberry, a flavor
You liked in second grade
When you kissed Molly
In the cloakroom.

Can you still remember that?