I See You America

Down that back road that heads out of town across the railroad tracks past the water treatment plant in a mobile home park where howling dogs are hooked with logging chains to blue plastic 55 gallon drums I see your eight kids playing in your front yard some in diapers some in tidy whiteys all of them shoeless and shirtless 8” tall grass littered with broken toys beer cans whiskey bottles cigarette butts a lawn mower with three wheels an old refrigerator and a couch with the cushions missing your driveway filled with your shiny red Ford F250 truck fishing boat motorcycle an empty box that held an 80” TV leaning against your overflowing trash can full of used lottery tickets and PBR boxes not everything can be blamed on the government