"You're in a State"

she says
as I stumble down the stairs
and come around the corner
after another day
of writing

but she always says that

so I can't tell if I really am in a state
or if she is just giving me
the business

so I get playful:
what state am I in,
is it Oregon?
I never really liked
all that forest.

Not Oregon,
she laughs.

Is it Vermont?
Doesn't that sound like overly
expensive chocolate?

She laughs.

Please don't let it be Ohio!
The rust belt is just an old chastity belt
that doesn't work anymore.

You realize we are in Canada,
she scoffs.

So how am I in a state?
I think you've been drinking,
I pull her head close to mine.
You should probably go easy on the bottle.
No one likes a lush.