Breathe

Riding in the back seat on a bumpy gravel road

The windows open letting in a stiff breeze

But the dust comes, too, making our eyes gritty

And our noses itchy so we sneeze

And this is how it goes, our teeth chattering

Because the shocks on this old car are bad.

So we hold hands and close our eyes and

Wrinkle our noses hoping to find the highway

Where the road is smooth and the air is clear

But the highway never comes

Because this is the new millennium

And there isn’t enough money

To clear the air, and the water and the ground

And we can’t just close our eyes anymore

And we can’t hold our breath long enough

To make an honest difference

So our grandchildren will be able to breathe.