The Crossroads of America

Arrange the day like a pack of cards,
Buckle my shoe after counting to two, where
Buffalo roam near the crossroads. Guards
Ask pretty Indiana Sue to their
Indescribably spare campground for canned
Artichokes.  Not like the soup for the bare
Reservation, whatever the cook has planned.
Evaporation hangs in the clouds for rain,
Arresting development, for the manned

Broadcasted operation with little sane
Betty Blue who lost her holiday shoe.
Arrival of shipments, metal, melted sand,
Newcomers fly in for, CEOs coup.
Drinkable water is only one concern,
Offering inhabitants life, resource. Few
Nonentities need worry about foreign
Assent.   There’s room for elephants, lost lions.
Reservoirs are on par with fields of corn.

Eventful crops for camels and bears, lost lines
Artistically done up for circuses,
Broken-hearted skeletons from star signs
Brush with the fate of endangered purses.
Indiana, shall we not come to you,
Nonetheless, with our requests? Nurses
Assail the young willingly for the few
Repossessed by a state system not too
Excessive. They cry, “We made it”