America Under The Boardwalk Poem by Frank Bana

The boardwalk quivers, carousel lights go out
Jesus in sand guarded by the devout
Summer crowds jostle by the ocean side
Kids scream for tickets to the carnival ride
Young men hustling their blonde-haired prizes
Seniors try on new ages and sizes
Tongues pierced, arms and buttocks tattooed
With the first names of dreams that were never pursued
Every spirit hungry for something to eat
Ghosts, clapboard houses lining the street

Have your name engraved on a small silver cross
For a country whose prophets are more than its loss.
Have your name inscribed on a small rice grain.
The old wild America will be rising again.

It lingers like incense, ducking for cover
It will not be censored like the words of a lover
Hiding under the boardwalk, waiting out summer nights
Chewing funnel cake, taffy in faint autumn light
Until soldiers come home, hang up leather boots
Its untamed spirit will water the roots
Of a tree that the war has left shaken and hollow
No fences protecting, no leaders to follow
What they thought to command will reward them with pain
Until old wild America rises again.

Have your name engraved on a small silver dime
In a land where the future cannot tell the time.
Have your name inscribed on a cold marble stone.
Until old wild America carries you home.