American Wasteland

Lincoln never did have much on you
Even though you both scuttled about
The same rocks, looking for unity.
Words of love fell from your lips
Erotic whirligigs spinning to the ground
On papery wings

You kept plowing but you never
Took root, all your seeds suffering
From lack of nurture
You found fertile ground but growing
Things take time and you have none

You gave no water in times of drought
Left delicate greenhouse beauty exposed
Standing in the sun
You lament the passing of the breadbasket
But turn your back on the harvest.

Deep inside the field I prepared for you,
I listen for the ghosts of seeds never sown
For returning footsteps between neatly tilled rows
Waiting in salt and silence.

It isn’t fair, I cry to the sun, but
What more can I expect from the land
Of cheap tricks?

-Zoe Richardson