the troops were led across Russia…burning wheat along the way…starvation was the hope…boy when a plan backfires…

the Greyhound bus dropped-off women…children…drunken refugees…white men who’d hoped for more…and rap artists muttering to themselves…into the night…the early morning while the clean of America lay in comfort..
snug as a bug in a rug…

and where will the departing go to…dingy motel rooms…truck-stop showers…24- hour diners serving pie alamode…maybe a shelter for those without…or under a bridge on the far side of town as rain comes down….drowning nothing..

not hunger…not pain…not torment from long ago…not arrests nor warrants…or the craving of the afflicted…the addicted…the one that got away….

far away from suburbia…from 9to 5…from kids in kindergarten…from mom’s apple brown Betty served after Sunday’s sermon…far away from America…

to a place where poetry is heard…words are read….songs listened to…and wine can be bought on Christian holidays….

YOU HATE THIS COUNTRY SO MUCH THEN WHY DON’T YOU LEAVE….

buy me a ticket..
I’ll go…
I know when a party’s over….