POEM: Powder River County Fair

if I die

I hope I die

in summer

so you can

drive my car

to Broadus

and park in

the dust near

the rodeo ring

where I ate

a sandwich

my mother made

and watched

the gently

bruising sky

track the highway

east southeast

pretending

the clouds were

locusts sent

to devour

the Dakotas

and carve a

path back home

to where I

hoped I’d find

you waiting