Missouri

She says breathe that hefty boy deep
as if to snake a man were nothing.

Two years in Tampa. After that
the long drive west, edging ‘round

Missouri, already we struggle to stomach
the meat of each other’s words. You see

my woman has a way – legs all
thigh and thickened calf

stretched against the dashboard – 
of breaking me with her song

the bleating broken record of
my daddy ain’t shit and you ain’t shit

and I ain’t
nothin’ but

I.
And you ain’t I

and 

I and

I

and 

I.