off-site recovery program

in the yard, dad glows green. the drum 
of pulse and sing. i never wanted to be 
an american but here i am, eating with
the vibrating spoon. i call toll free to say
i think we have another one. the tree, not a tree
but a government surveillance site. each pine cone
could power a small city. if we dig deep enough
there is space enough for all our mistakes 
or so i am told. dad hums. dad is made of 
radioactive waste. it's all because he works 
inside a captured dream. hymnals fall. 
open them to find lists of recovery addresses.