The child asks, bringing it to me in handfuls.
We stop at the Walt Whitman Service Area—
No sign of Him save some 'Democratic Vistas'
& 'Drum Taps' on a plaque near the Micky D's

Let's go find the grass
I say to my two-year-old beauty and
We pick one blade from the median
Then back we go in the forever car

Hours later, pulling into Richmond
She, half awake in my arms mumbles

Let's go find the grass