Norman Rockwell showed us the way, if only we had kept going that road...
Piece by piece, like worms on leafs we have been eating America bite by bite trying to fill a bottomless stomach.
If you invent a time machine, please, send me back to that innocent, idealistic and pioneer America...

The sun goes down on a silent prairie
until a coyote decide begin to howl
its hunger discontent to the night
and most particularly to the moon.

The saguaros unruly army spreading
their ranks of the desert all around
with arms raised to the darkening sky
like green giants being in a hold-up.

Silence that preclude coming dreams,
wild horses with a black leader stallion
should not run and be quiet at night, or
they will break a leg in a prairie-dog’s hole.

The scent of coffee will assault nostrils
long before, of the fire smell, the smoke,
as the last heifer was rounded for the day,
from the saddle down comes the cowboy.

A little round circle of fire the men made
the bacon fried as they heard the wolf
telling the intruders not to get too comfy
because they were in the neck of his world.

Night couldn’t be without a cricket’s chorus,
a lullaby for tired horsemen, a dreams call,
needing to be alert for the angry indians
after some greedy fools killed their bison.

Morning came without Geronimo’s brothers
but with the Iron Horse in the distance voice,
soon the prairie will be empty of indians,
and the cowboys will have a job no more.

America, sweet America where are you now?
the land that Norman Rockwell so well drew,
with the simplicity of God loving souls that
when growing up was the America that I knew.