We drive the countryside where I
play a game of eye spy with things
popping up that I can in no way relate to.

I spy with my little eye something
run down. Something rural and
brown or green…
the color of a deserted ghetto. Hidden life.

With miniature models of mountains
in the future, windblown hair
in the now and a western sky in the past

we keep on truckin'. Past Baptist
churches abandoned save depleted swings
made for the children of God. Past those whispered
prayers left behind from struggling mothers.

Past replicas of childhood daydreams -
wooden homes, matching red barns.
Here's the church, here's the steeple,

open the door and see all the people
kind of stuff. Follow a trail of endless
roads enclosed by fences made to
trap the wild. Trailers sit on blocks;

definition of your home. Mismatching
coats of spray paint mask the
love in this cowboy country.

We drive by the gentle melodies
of acoustic guitars. Oh mother bear, how
you defeat the surface. Lulling your cubs
to sleep with stories of your own.


Appreciation finds its way into my
vocabulary here. Opposites creep
through the cracks of observation.
I played make-believe with wishes

for purple unicorns and vampires
to be real in the future. They played
make-believe with wishes for water
to be clear. For money to be constant.

At least that’s what I thought,
at first glance. Until I put my eyes away
and listened. Until they told me of their wishes
to be smart like mommy. And strong like

Daddy. I open my eyes as I play
this game and realize I come from a
different land.

Where appreciation is left out.
and I ask if there can be a middle
to this middle class society?