All you poems and the Freedom Suite
and comment cards cannot delete
broken bikes and cold, bare feet.
America, surrender.
But to honest plights
or tennis whites
or parking-space posses
that will wrong all rights?
Who took my wallet and my sleepless nights?
I can never remember.
In some towns you must respect the water
and the shade.
Part rust and part disturbing daughter
pushes you away.
Stay away.
There's dust and leaks and coincidence,
tenements in Billings, and in Butte,
soon in tents.
Call the janitor and raise the rents,
there's camping in December.
Still Astrud aspires
to blight the liars.
Sometimes a simple voice can douse the hottest fires.
A nascent tune will make them all retire.
America, surrender.