Tourist's Lucille

November 5, 2008
By Lucy Schoyer, Pittsburgh, PA

Let's live on the farm. HAve babies
in the mud and wash off in the stream.
Let the cow's milk flow over our hands like cream.
Baby we'll turn chicken into eggs, get country legs.

Let's go to the ocean. Bring a pale
and bucket. SHove sand into our soda cans.
Like kings we'll have castles and give our commands.
Pale will turn red, tides come in, we'll mark out the day on blistered skin.

Let's go to the city. We'll stand
on the sidewlak and cover our ears
as the sirens go and our ketchup smears.
Stand by the bus stop and we'll wait for hours. GIve you pigeons, city flowers.

Let's go to teh moon. WE'll spring
up and down in our new fat suits.
WE'll plant our flag and gather our loot.
Spring up here is no different from fall, you and I we've seen it all.

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