Lemonade Frosties

We spend much time bubbling, waxing, and relaxing. And we know it. The time, it keeps bulldozing. And it rips up tiny, barely new trees in its path. Those trees are small and virgin. Small enough to make a child's pool stick. They coulda grew up tall and thick to be telephone posts; now just childrens pool sticks.
 I don't own a gun, but I want to buy one to blow out the tires of that bulldozer and stop it in its path. I also want one so I can get myself real dirty and sweaty and put streaks of red food coloring on my ripped, white cardigan then go down to the docks and yell tormented things then throw the gun into the river. And cry. And then take a long shower.