Somewhere in Iowa

Sure, the drive’s monotonous
but you can’t eat scenery.
Grain has to grow somewhere
and the Midwest is where it chose.

The roads are straight, flat,
and lined with fields 
of corn, soybeans and rye.
It’s no place for trees.
The few that remain 
cluster around farm-houses.

I pass by the occasional 
man of the land
high up in a tractor’s saddle.
Half wave,
half go about their business.
No city I know
could come close to fifty percent.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, North Dakota Quarterly, and Lost Pilots. Latest books, Between Two Fires, Covert, and  Memory Outside The Head are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in California Quarterly, Seventh Quarry, La Presa, and Doubly Mad.