Everyone knows about that
capitol shaft in Lincoln, Nebraska,
with its climax of gold dome,
atop of which is a statue of a
hand-sowing grain the old way –
grain, which the brochure will tell you
Now my family may not have been
here taming the prairie,
but I tell you what –
you hoe, you don’t sow, corn
That way’s how you sow oats or wheat,
any good Nebraska girl can tell you.
My mom saw those other Nebraska girls,
slightly slutty with a chance of accidents,
and tried to give me a scare –
I could get a disease
or cancer or I could be
ruining my life
(when AIDS got as inland as Overland Wheat,
I wondered if she felt sort of wistful
like she’d missed a *really* big stick).
I believed her well enough
to get safely off to a college
where no one grew such grain.
But when I rolled off the
before the wheels had really
there it was again:
Hoover Tower –
pink, stone column and
tiled, red dome –
Bertram Goodhue’s folly
showing me the way straight to Heaven
or somewhere a lot like it.