I wish I could scan
the prairie horizon
from the driver’s seat.
It stretches past my peripheral sight
to either side of the highway line.
I’m not sure what I’d see, though,
where the farmland and the sky meet.
My brother says,
“Be kind to the prairie elves.
They are not as forgiving
as their forest kin.”
You know you’re in the country
when the paved road
gives way to blacktop,
the tires humming
as they release the sticky surface.
Out here you can watch the horizon.
You slip into then out of
tiny farm towns
where the shops are all empty.
The roads are tunnels through the corn.
All you can see of the world is corn and sky.
Or they follow subtle ridge lines,
the prairie sloping down to either side,
and all you can see is corn and sky.
An older poem that I’ve never posted,
which fits the dVerse prompt of 4/29/20: describe a place