By Elise Pfeiffer
(After Allen Ginsbergs America)
I.
Kentucky, I think about breaking up with you all the time.
Kentucky, my father says you have a rude voice.
Kentucky, I have a crush on your best friend.
Her songs make me cry and I daydream
that she wrote them all for me.
Kentucky, Im fed up with your sadness.
Why did I let you take the rest of my cigarettes?
Kentucky, I jumped the gun when I let you kiss me.
You never know what to do with my body.
Kentucky, Ive still never been with a girl
and you insist I never will.
You push and prod me like the cattle
that graze on your grassy blue.
Kentucky, Im just not in love with you
and Im not sure that you can even tell.
II.
Kentucky, your cheeks are ruddy and filled with stupid stuffs.
Your hills are blatantly unorganized and slim.
Kentucky, I ought to be more gentle with you.
I know you cant bounce back like I can.
Kentucky, youre not just a piece of money, a piece of flesh.
Your people they live under stones.
Kentucky, Im sorry I treat you like
a stage one night and a dumping ground
for my shit-filled mason jars the next.
Kentucky, you are Persephone darkened by funny-men
who saw your roosters as a tourist attraction.
Kentucky, for a moment I forgot how unsexy smoke is.
Its a dangerous sport were playing with you, dear
and Kentucky, Im doing my best
to convince the others to love you again.
III.
Kentucky, Im going through an identity repair.
I stand at your mountain bottoms, combative, and scream.
Im so angry, Kentucky.
I havent had an epiphany in weeks.
Kentucky, my mother says were codependent.
I think about breaking up with you
all the time but when I get down
to the choreography of blame.
Kentucky, I cant make myself blame you.
Youre addicted to anxiety drugs.
Kentucky, when did you become such a boy?
Kentucky, I cant find your footnotes Im at a loss for words.
I guess Ill go join the workforce.
Down in the wet parts of your coal belly, theres a mandate
of Silence, so Kentucky, please dont speak to me.
This article appears in January 25, 2017.