(American Trash 2011)

At Mizzou I took the poetry creative writing sequence in the English Department. I had workshop with this girl Lalainia Broers. She was the far superior writer. I remember she had this couplet about license plates that I loved. I always wanted a line about license plates

I finally found a spot in Cold War Country. The 80’s was basically a decade of divorce. A free for all of split homes and two Christmases. This was one of three songs I ever wrote about my childhood. Not much to show for 18 years. But, I got Dave out of it and we’re still rolling.

I still get sustenance from this song whenever I hear it or sing it. A capo on the 4th fret…haven’t done that in a while.

Cold War Country

I was made in the dead winter
In the dead middle
Of a Cold War Country
Of a Cold War Country

With a framed picture of
Your Jesus
Hung above my mother’s head
In a sweat and blood stained bed

And the way we were grown
To never know home
Built to
Run through
The scrap yards of youth
With maiden names
And out of state plates
Then they wonder why we never call
Then they wonder why we never call

Cold War Country and nineteen hundred and eighty-one
Cold War Country and one more wasted run around the sun

I was made in the dead winter
In the dead middle
Of a Cold War Country
Of a Cold War Country