New England

                                                   NEW ENGLAND

                                    Lady of leaves changing I see it on your face,

                                    Your somber smile is melancholy, a bit broken.

                                    A twinge of sorrow moments and

 foreign children.

My back aches from trudging through you.

                                    But here’s to you Lady,

And your Italy, Ireland, Hungary and Russia.

                                    You’re infested with mice and men.

Brimming full on slimy shore,

that Big Apple core.

                                    Mixing pieces of patchwork people.

                                    But I’m willing to give you a shot.

                                    Brown babies, red boy, yellow girl, cream and roses,

                                    Am I close to you?

Stay awhile with the locals

and maybe you might know me too.

                                    I heard they got some slot machines in the

                                    American jungle.

                                    I see your wrinkled face, but do you have a name?

                                    Who is the lighthouse keeper?

                                    The little black boy at the corner store?

                                    Squatters and speedball dealers had stories once, names.

.                                    In tents and shopping cart houses,

                                    Mr. and Mrs. Nobody could have healed you.

                                    We could have changed the world.