I’d like to talk.
And if I could,
I’d say:
“See that path?
It’s flowers sprinkled
A foot apart,
Far as the eye can see?”
And,
“Would you take a walk with me?”
There’s dirt,
And rocks,
And a big, red sky-
“What is it about today
That makes me feel alive?”
The air is hot and thick,
My calico skirt blows,
Your flat-bottomed soles crunch,
As you pick the dusty flowers.

I’d like to talk.
And if I could,
I’d say:
“See that road,
It’s broken television sets,
Couches, and Maytag machines
Far as the eye can see?”
And,
“Remember how things used to be?”
It’s soft,
The image fading to white,
But I’m wasting bated breath-
“You never would have survived.”
The air, still hot, still thick,
Is dying, it’s sick.

Well, I’d like to talk.
And if I could,
I’d say:
“See that highway?
Gone is the humid day.
See that highway?
Gone is the hundred-degree breeze.
See that highway?
Gone is the locusts' song,
But-
Where have all the flowers gone?"