Ohio

Breaths caught like lumps of bread; hiccups hop, and jump, and spread from throat to lungs with bated dread. My mind turns to Ohio.

Stomachs turn like private sorrow, churn and burn and fear tomorrow; for either side, it’s hard to swallow the color of Ohio.

Drinks poured like loaded guns, cocked, rocked, shot, and flung. Show me the man who says he’s won, and I’ll show you Ohio.