Finally, somewhere you can love
as no one else seems to anymore:
Razorback cozy, Razorback scarf,
pillowcase stenciled with the Razorback song.
You're here because you want to pay
tribute to your next-door neighbor
who hoards Dean Martin memorabilia
or your cousin who scours the Net
for the early, neglected Ronnie Milsap.
What else but love? A knit hat,
a pair of gloves, a bright red comforter,
love in your decision to pull over
and push open the warped screen door.
Soon, crooked, steep two-lane,
cows chewing and counting down the days.
Quick, hideous death to the irony-mongers.
You're here because you're thinking of
your parents in another state,
after dinner, holding hands, watching the news,
and that you might never see them again.
:: Michael Diebert, in Valparaiso Poetry Review, 7:2 (2007)
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