Rio Grande Poem by James McLain

Expired, bloated past her date
she rest's with U.S.
Every year I send hundreds of
my children home to you.
I am to near you all,
to near to you by far made up
of mostly Catholic's.
The Pope on his throne has said
to U.S. make more.
Where I sleep the ground has died
but only for a while.
Made in water,
like the rest of you whom learned
to swim the sun is hot.
The roaches pour across each May,
Trump -
makes them spray the grass.
Insipid heat my swelling breasts my
milk has soured.
Found before the buzzard's came to
take my eye's.
Verily saith he my mother home but
gone to her and me.
Found but never lost the smell wafts
up to thee.
Out of sight to those whom wish but
harm to you and me.
It's to late for me to wake but not
for you.
I have lost my sleep and you still dream.