“And where are you from?”

The inevitable vacation question.

And I want to say

Not that Oklahoma,

The one you think of.

Podunk, boozy, meth defeat,

Fifth generation cowboys

Finding solace

In our college football

Dust Bowl.

I’ve never seen a rodeo,

And I certainly don’t

Ride to school

On a horse.

I’m a willing victim

Of indie concert anxiety.

I’m a member of

A defiant urban renaissance.

Discussing reincarnation

In the Phoenix

And wanderlust

In the Gypsy.

We talk about revolution,

But only throw bombs at

Pop Music,

Polo shirts,

And our parents’ religion.

We’re so individual,

I’ve never seen

So many identical

Dream Catcher Tattoos.

In Cain’s,

Inhaling the fumes

From the joints of

A hundred immobile hipsters,

Perfumed with

Dust.