All abooaard! Our high speed bullet train
quiet with the hum of propriety
the silent click clack says
you will speak my language
envy
my democracy
dream
my dream
and keep your huddled masses huddled
in front of our golden arches
albeit on your own turf
in return for which we pledge never
to shed disgrace on thee
never to invade only to liberate
shock and awe
while reality is manufactured on our television sets
bachelors and brides to be
queer gatekeepers of beautiful people aesthetic
survivors who play at survival
and average joes who aspire to tv greatness
unconsciously enabling the barbarous contexts of puppet regimes
that pause and refresh like warm coca cola

* * * * *

and what does middle America look like to you?
guns and roses atop steel locker graves
welfare teachers
crumbling bricks in the wall

and what does middle America look like to you?
patriot riot acts
white powder envelopes and bomb sniffing dogs
false Allah Buddha Hindu goddesses Mel Gibson’s Jesus
swarthy suspicion

and what does middle America look like to you?
suburban subdivisions
gentrification
section 8 overflow
litiginous gated community
and what does middle America look like to you?
overqualified outsourced unemployed
overtaxed social insecurity
and what does middle America look like to you?
HMO PPO alphabet soup
delayed emergency care
burdensome co-pays
extended pharmaceutical patents
doctor-hospital-insurance lobby cost-shifting

and what does middle America look like to you?
race class and culture wars
corn-fed conservatism
entitlements ... for the entitled

and who is middle America?
the bland dishwater blonde behind the wheel of her minivan
the blue collar black guy with axle grease underneath his nails
the homeless family huddled underneath overturned shopping carts
the “foreigners” who’ve lived here for generations but will never be one of us
movie star governors who trade autographs for ballot petition signatures

* * * * *

I entered a diner, sat beside Madam Middle America, and eavesdropped on her fulmination.

I’m still beautiful though possibly past my prime. If we only respected age here...

If I didn’t exist the rest of the world would have to invent me the way we’re trying to invent Mars. I bet we’ll find something to sell those little microbes out there, then maybe the Third world won’t be dead last anymore, and the war against terror will simply become a celebration. 

What does the world want of me? I am generous. I give of what I have: Xboxes, luxury cars, designer clothing, plastic singers...

Sure, sometimes the right hand knows not what the left does. But why blame me? Aggrieved, I am victim too.

Broken democracy, spiritual emptiness masked in hostile Christianity, detonated nuclear families, helplessness and confusion ... I need more Hollywood blood in my passionate Christ because my warriors are dying overseas at the behest of wealthy white men who foist equal opportunity upon the darker skinned, less educated amongst us--equal opportunity on the front lines.

Isn’t it true that reality is never more real than when staged? The tail wags the dog, and the cart pushes the horse. How’s that for a circus act? That’s how I feel in these days of locusts and Ebay.

I bought her a drink while we watched the sky turn grey. I offered my condolences and sympathy, which she took as an accolade.

She continued, asking, Why go west when it’s just going to fall into the ocean, or east filled with skyscrapers and subway stations waiting to be ground zeros? Nope, she hummed, I’m where it’s at.

Virtue leagues, beauty pageants, breakfast nooks, garage door openers, talcum powder, ice cream socials, champion boxer grills, universal remote controls, canned tuna, electric toothbrushes, self-serve gas stations, tinted windows, tanning booths....

She went on. I couldn’t tell her what she looked like to me––a set of symptoms in a Tuskegee-like experiment unleashed on the entire population.

flat tile roofs, leaves that change color in the fall, ball point pens, electoral colleges....

Her rant meandered like a sheep without a shepherd, the wolf of atrocity upon her.

I listened to her name all the things that earmark this civilization, and I felt her pain and pride. Deranged and possibly dangerous, she’s where we’ve come from, and where we’re headed. Bullet train, destination unknown.