It’s right down that road, she said,
pointing a spoon – you could get there
and back before the coffee’s gone.
Yellow butterflies circled us on the dirt road.
Some rancher had posted a mean Obama sign.
How could you live in such grassland glory and be rude?
We crossed a cattle guard,
said hey to the cattle, took two pictures of the
second-to-last state I’ve yet to see,
turned around.
I couldn’t wait to get back to Wyoming.
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