Past mimosa trees
Run-down trailer parks, needles
Keep faith in Jesus

You grew up. City
Boy who’s daddy was always
Catching fly balls home

Now your hands tremor
But you insist on driving
Us kids to the coast

Past truck stop havens
Mirages of flooded roads
And the “good old days”

Before your brother
Got that divorce, and the pack
Of ‘Bama fireworks

They’re selling fight dogs
And antiques and stolen rings
Pawn your momma’s love

It’s a child, not choice
The train-car graffiti says
“Die” and you listen

Guns guns guns. Exit 
Here. You steal words from billboards
Traveling southbound