my old american home in poetry

there’s lead in the water
madmen in the halls of power
beggars in the streets outside
those richmen’s fancy balls

wars waged for their own sake
with assurances the news is fake
the roads allowed to fall apart
the vilification of love and art

I ask is this the fall of Rome
or is this my old American home?
is this my own or someone else’s hell
some days I cannot even tell