Go, Hawkeyes!
A 36 hour bus ride took me to Iowa
and ow, ooo, ahhh.
Summer vacation in the famed
starting place for presidential
hopefuls and spouses-of-me regretfuls.
No Paris or London needed--
give me a good Anywhere But Here and I’m content.
Bring me somewhere where you can drive down
gravel roads for miles without seeing anything
but cornstalks and wind turbines.
Where farmers befuddle the eastern eye
with a friendly salute as they drive by.
Where you find your sister-in-law’s house by
taking a right at the soy field just past the silo
and your wife has a corn guy who is not the
produce manager at Shop Right.
Bring me somewhere where the local diner
serves a Maid Rite--seasoned loose beef
on a bun---perfectly paired with a chocolate malt.
Or, if you'd prefer, just a straight up bowl of beef.
A lets-get-to-the-freakin'-point kind of place.
Bring me somewhere where everyone is
decked out in Hawkeye yellow and black.
Having no professional sports team,
the college team is king.
A place where people want to talk
to you for some reason
and you can strap on your "tennis shoes"
to walk to the store for a "pop" and a
delightful descendent of some Scandinavian
settler will put it in a “sack" for you.
Somewhere you can find
treasures of America's past.
A covered bridge.
A pioneer history museum.
A video store.
Like the Hawkeyes,
Iowa doesn’t need to be Big Time
to garner excitement from those open
to seeing its greatness.
Neither do we.
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