Low In The Laurels (3:21)

LOW IN THE LAURELS
BY ALEXIS M. THOMPSON

The ground that cradled the nukes was quaking
And the windows on the rockets breaking
But the frogs were singing and I was making love.

The farms I knew became a home
For the lying, the rich, and the war drones
But the minnows were swimming and I was grinning.

Now, there’s plastic fruit on the countertops
No more clementines in the hollow
They congregate around their big screens
While I lie low in the laurels.

The teller at the filling station
Blue bag queen of destinations
Said your wishes die, then they fossilize, then you’ll pay for them.

My neighbors prayed for gasoline
Filled up tanks with their dead dreams
But I was barefoot running with the paper bees.

Now, there’s plastic fruit on the countertops
No more clementines in the hollow
They congregate around their big screens
While I lie low in the laurels.

There’s plastic fruit on the countertops
No more clementines in the hollow
They congregate around their big screens
While I lie low in the laurels.