Corn Belt

All I have to do is take a stab at not being here
and I'm suddenly on a plane to Istanbul
or someplace pleasant and alien enough
to make for an interesting breakfast.
I'm not exoticizing the other so much
as I enjoy a good muffin in an exotic locale.
Meanwhile, Arthur Russel is on my computer
reminding me he grew up an hour from me
in Iowa. What will I do with my morning
once the mysteries of the night are resolved?
Canned beans? A new box of Swiffer Dusters?
Some yogurt & milk? Check, check. Is this microphone
working? The audacity of the day
to become normal again and precise
touching down on the particulars so as to
say "is that all there is?" And so, a lump
in my throat which is really only a half
swallowed vitamin c tablet. Henry Street
has all sorts of interesting things on it.