Here, they drag their blond children through the door,

some on leashes

with large bare feet,

drawling wet accents

Here, Friday night after the big game,

when the rest of America

is listening to Walter Cronkite

or attending an art opening,

they lug around their hungry buck-toothed offspring

munching on yellow-stained burgers

greasy fries

matching their school uniforms

matching the styrofoam boxes they drove up in

Here, Friday night,

let’s just eat out

join the big event,

where babies scream bloody sugar

climbing and crawling on sharp edged playground diversions

Here, Friday night,

shit, let’s just head over to the chow down

or whatever this spectacle is called,

that will transform us

into even more of these well-trained American travelers

stumbling down the coming-on-anyhow

carcinogenic road to conformity

and dementia

East Texas, 1981