Find Me a Place

Find me a place —

with Little League

take me out to the ball games,

black and red licorice

and unshelled salted peanuts.

50 cents a cup lemonade stands,

water balloon fights, slip and slides,

sidewalk hopscotch and

Hide and Seek ‘till sunset,

until Mom rings the bell for dinner —

and ain’t nobody worried ‘bout

getting shot from a stray bullet.

Find me a place —

where people mow their own lawns,

take out their own trash,

wash their own cars,

clean their own homes,

buy their own groceries,

cook their own meals,

do their own taxes,

dye their own hair,

do their own nails,

raise their kids —

and ain’t nobody worried ‘bout

getting shot from a stray bullet.

Find me a place —

where the Lord isn’t a four-letter word,

where families say grace before supper,

a few prayers before Bedtime,

go to church on Sundays,

don’t take God’s name in vain,

pledge allegiance to the Flag,

appreciate literature, film, and music,

value everybody and everything,

respect people’s life choices,

know the difference between

right and wrong,

good and bad,

tolerance and hatred

peace and war,

two plus two equals four —

and ain’t nobody worried ‘bout

getting shot from a stray bullet.

Find me a place —

where the public schools are good,

teachers are competent,

reading, writing, arithmetic taught,

no-nonsense discipline happens,

parents support the teachers,

teachers support the parents,

nothing banned for political reasons,

classrooms have air-conditioning,

and America’s plurality is represented —

and ain’t nobody worried ‘bout

getting shot from a stray bullet.

Find me a place —

that my family can afford,

won’t break the bank,

has different houses of worship,

a safe playground with green spaces,

a mom-and-pop grocery store,

a Post Office,

a doughnut shop with real wheat and sugar,

a real ice cream shop — not that chemical stuff,

a clean library of uncensored books,

a community theater season,

a neighborhood orchestra,

4th of July Parade and high school fireworks,

Santa Clause coming to town on a Fire Truck —

and ain’t nobody worried ‘bout

getting shot from a stray bullet.

Find me a place —

where the grocery cashier knows my name,

where the mailman knows my name,

where the crossing guard knows my name,

where my neighbors know my name,

where the neighbors get my mail,

bring in the newspaper when I’m on vacation,

and help out when something goes wrong —

and ain’t nobody worried ‘bout

getting shot from a stray bullet.

I’m just tired of waking up every morning to find yet another innocent kid shot down in America’s frontyard war zone. Also, tired of being chased down the street by a crazy vagrant coming at me with two metal pipes, forcing me to step into oncoming traffic.

If such a place exists, please let me know. I’ll pay cash.