What I am thinking.
what am i thinking?
In 1989, Bill Bryson published The Lost Continent: Travels in Small-Town America. It's taken me some 33 years to find it, but I suppose I'm almost never on the cutting edge with books. Bryson's analysis of Middle America spans across time, however. His frigid, almost reptilian insults can still wither the flowers of the South. Over the course of a long road trip from his home state of Iowa down into Georgia, up to New England, and back westward, Bryson puts America into a box with his devastating quips and observations. He captures us, I'm afraid, rather well, even if the negative tack of his humor slowly wears a reader down. In reflecting on his book, I wrote the following poem.
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