Ingham County Geometry
Corn stands obedient,
row upon row
the way that it was sown.
Rails run long,
straight, parallel,
to the edges of the world.
Neither map nor bird need
tell the simple, even hand
that parceled out this earth
that turns until
a week of nights each summer,
bare, raw light
wreaths the ground
at the Ingham county fair.
The ferris wheel
turns too,
above the
weaving crowd..
I, of square shoulders,
fingers spaced even
against the safety bar,
hear the cables groan
and hold on,
to steer
the reaches of
a straight, dark road,
into a carnival of stars,
pause at the blue, vacant railroad yard,
glide by the rustling corn
to the curved drive
of my parents' house,
tap my brakes,
and roll on.