America, like a county fair dilettante
Shackled to a fencepost
For stealing blue ribbons

America, like The Bohemians
In their stitched-up outfits
With the seams all crooked

America, like the dreamscape of a young boy,
The one with the grand expectations

America, like when the rain falls softly
In a somber town somewhere
And they dream of playing outside

America, like the hog-pen and the festering corpse
Of a calf that died
Too soon
Too soon

America, like the cradle and the deathbed,
Like the gas-lamp luminary
And the dark alley

And the boys all say, “America, we love you so”
And they feel what they call yearning in their breasts
Yearning, for what the butcher sells
For what the milkman brings
And for bakery sweets

And we all say, “America, we love you so”