America the Beautiful

Prisoners patrol this patch of highway in herds,
Picking up cola cans and cigarette butts
Tossed from speeding Fords and Lincolns.
It’s all part of the landscape,
Here in America, the Beautiful.

Suited in ugly orange,
They’re hard to ignore,
Even in technicolor.
But we’ll try anyway, Mother,drive on.
This is America, the Beautiful.

But the wild-eyed patrol,
Still litter the highway.
Bitter-eyed and black-balled,
They’re invisible in open ditches,
Sick from fumes from passerby’s,
Intoxicated
By the scent of life without walls,
Here in America, the Beautiful,
Home of the free.

Run, rabbit, run, the silent mantra of all,
But take two steps to the left
And the green Chevy might hold the answer.
So most yield to a practical fate–
And to oncoming traffic,
Tamed to life
Bound by walls.
What’s my motivation, they ask?
It’s not so bad,
Not so bad.
It’s a habit now,
Here in America, the Beautiful.

Lisa G. Froman

This work is copyrighted and can not be duplicated or reprinted without permission from the author.

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